MRS.    STOWE'S    WRITINGS 


HOUSE    AND    HOME    PAPERS. 

One    Volume. 


THE    PEARL    OF   ORR'S    ISLAND. 

One    Volume. 


AGNES    OF  SORRENTO. 

One    "Volume. 

UNCLE    TOM'S  CABIN. 
One    Volume. 

THE    MINISTER'S     WOOING. 

One    "Volume. 

TICKNOB  AND   FIELDS,   Publishers. 


HOUSE    AND    HOME 


PAPERS. 


BY    CHRISTOPHER    CROWFIELD. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS. 

1865. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

HARRIET    BEECHER    STOWE, 
in  the  Cfbrk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS: 
WELCH,   BIGELOW,   AND  COMPANY, 

CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  THE  RAVAGES  OF  A  CARPET  i 

II.  HOME-KEEPING  vs.  HOUSE-KEEPING        .  23 

III.  WHAT  is  A  HOME  ? 48 

IV.  THE  ECONOMY  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL         .  79 
V.  RAKING  UP  THE  FIRE 101 

VI.  THE  LADY  WHO  DOES  HER  OWN  WORK  125 

VII.  WHAT  CAN  BE  GOT  IN  AMERICA  .        .        .  148 

VIII.  ECONOMY 164 

IX.  SERVANTS        .......  195 

X.  COOKERY ••      .        .  225 

XL  OUR  HOUSE 266 

XII.  HOME  RELIGION 309 


M130S11 


HOUSE  AND  HOME  PAPERS. 


i. 

THE   RAVAGES   OF  A   CARPET. 


MY  dear,  it's  so 
These  words  were  spoken  by  my  wife,  as 
she  sat  gracefully  on  a  roll  of  Brussels  carpet  which 
was  spread  out  in  flowery  lengths  on  the  floor  of. 
Messrs.  Ketchem  &  Co. 

"  It 's  so  cheap  ! " 

Milton  says  that  the  love  of  fame  is  the  last  in- 
firmity of  noble  minds.  I  think  he  had  not  rightly 
considered  the  subject.  I  believe  that  last  infirmity 
is  the  love  of  getting  things  cheap  !  Understand  me, 
now.  I  don't  mean  the  love  of  getting  cheap  things, 
by  which  one  understands  showy,  trashy,  ill-made, 
spurious  articles,  bearing  certain  apparent  resem- 
blances to  better  things.  All  really  sensible  people 
are  quite  superior  to  that  sort  of  cheapness.  But 
those  fortunate  accidents  which  put  within  the  power 
of  a  man  things  really  good  and  valuable  for  half  or 
a  third  of  their  value  what  mortal  virtue  and  resolu- 
i  A 


2;:  V:  \  *   -'f^pus?  ;q%d  "Home  Papers. 

tion  can  withstand  ?  My  friend  Brown  has  a  genuine 
Murillo,  the  joy  of  his  heart  and  the  light  of  his  eyes, 
but  he  never  fails  to  tell  you,  as  its  crowning  merit, 
how  he  bought  it  in  South  America  for  just  nothing, 
—  how  it  hung  smoky  and  deserted  in  the  back  of  a 
counting-room,  and  was  thrown  in  as  a  makeweight  to 
bind  a  bargain,  and,  upon  being  cleaned,  turned  out 
a  genuine  Murillo  ;  and  then  he  takes  out  his  cigar, 
and  calls  your  attention  to  the  points  in  it ;  he  adjusts 
the  curtain  to  let  the  sunlight  fall  just  in  the  right 
spot;  he  takes  you  to  this  and  the  other  point  of 
view ;  and  all  this  time  you  must  confess,  that,  in 
your  mind  as  well  as  his,  the  consideration  that  he 
got  all  this  beauty  for  ten  dollars  adds  lustre  to  the 
painting.  Brown  has  paintings  there  for  which  he 
paid  his  thousands,  and,  being  well  advised,  they  are 
worth  the  thousands  he  paid  ;  but  this  ewe-lamb  that 
he  got  for  nothing  always  gives  him  a  secret  exaltation 
in  his  own  eyes.  He  seems  to  have  credited  to  him- 
self personally  merit  to  the  amount  of  what  he  should 
have  paid  for  the  picture.  Then  there  is  Mrs.  Crcesus, 
at  the  party  yesterday  evening,  expatiating  to  my  wife 
on  the  surprising  cheapness  of  her  point-lace  set,  — 
"  Got  for  just  nothing  at  all,  my  dear  ! "  and  a  circle 
of  admiring  listeners  echoes  the  sound.  "  Did  you 
ever  hear  anything  like  it  ?  I  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing  in  my  life  " ;  and  away  sails  Mrs.  Crcesus  as  if 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  3 

she  had  a  collar  composed  of  all  the  cardinal  virtues. 
In  fact,  she  is  buoyed  up  with  a  secret  sense  of  merit, 
so  that  her  satin  slippers  scarcely  touch  the  carpet. 
Even  I  myself  am  fond  of  showing  a  first  edition  of 
"  Paradise  Lost,"  for  which  I  gave  a  shilling  in  a 
London  book-stall,  and  stating  that  I  would  not  take 
a  hundred  dollars  for  it.  Even  I  must  confess  there 
are  points  on  which  I  am  mortal. 

But  all  this  while  my  wife  sits  on  her  roll  of  carpet, 
looking  into  my  face  for  approbation,  and  Marianne 
and  Jenny  are  pouring  into  my  ear  a  running-fire 
of  "  How  sweet !  How  lovely  !  Just  like  that  one 
of  Mrs.  Tweedleum's  ! " 

"  And  she  gave  two  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  a 
yard  for  hers,  and  this  is  — " 

My  wife  here  put  her  hand  to  her  mouth,  and 
pronounced  the  incredible  sum  in  a  whisper,  with  a 
species  of  sacred  awe,  common,  as  I  have  observed, 
to  females  in  such  interesting  crises.  In  fact,  Mr. 
Ketchem,  standing  smiling  and  amiable  by,  remarked 
to  me  that  really  he  hoped  Mrs.  Crowfield  would  not 
name  generally  what  she  gave  for  the  article,  for  posi- 
tively it  was  so  far  below  the  usual  rate  of  prices  that 
he  might  give  offence  to  other  customers  ;  but  this 
was  the  very  last  of  the  pattern,  and  they  were  anx- 
ious to  close  off  the  old  stock,  and  we  had  always 
traded  with  them,  and  he  had  a  great  respect  for  my 

•' 


4  House  and  Home  Papers. 

wife's  father,  who  had  always  traded  with  their  firm, 
and  so,  when  there  were  any  little  bargains  to  be 
thrown  in  any  one's  way,  why,  he  naturally,  of 
course  —  And  here  Mr.  Ketchem  bowed  grace- 
fully over  the  yardstick  to  my  wife,  and  I  con- 
sented. 

Yes,  I  consented ;  but  whenever  I  think  of  my- 
self at  that  moment,  I  always  am  reminded,  in  a 
small  way,  of  Adam  taking  the  apple ;  and  my  wife, 
seated  on  that  roll  of  carpet,  has  more  than  once 
suggested  to  my  mind  the  classic  image  of  Pandora 
opening  her  unlucky  box.  In  fact,  from  the  moment 
I  had  blandly  assented  to  Mr.  Ketchem's  remarks, 
and  said  to  my  wife,  with  a  gentle  air  of  dignity, 
"  Well,  my  dear,  since  it  suits  you,  I  think  you  had 
better  take  it,"  there  came  a  load  on  my  prophetic 
soul,  which  not  all  the  fluttering  and  chattering  of 
my  delighted  girls  and  the  more  placid  complacency 
of  my  wife  could  entirely  dissipate.  I  presaged,  I 
know  not  what,  of  coming  woe  j  and  all  I  presaged 
came  to  pass. 

In  order  to  know  just  what  came  to  pass,  I  must 
give  you  a  view  of  the  house  and  home  into  which 
this  carpet  was  introduced. 

My  wife  and  I  were  somewhat  advanced  house- 
keepers, and  our  dwelling  was  first  furnished  by  her 
father,  in  the  old-fashioned  jog-trot  days,  when  fur- 


The  -Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  5 

niture  was  made  with  a  view  to  its  lasting  from  gen- 
eration to  generation.  Everything  was  strong  and 
comfortable,  —  heavy  mahogany,  guiltless  of  the  mod- 
ern device  of  veneering,  and  hewed  out  with  a  square 
solidity  which  had  not  an  idea  of  change.  It  was, 
so  to  speak,  a  sort  of  granite  foundation  of  the  house- 
hold structure.  Then,  we  commenced  housekeeping 
with  the  full  idea  that  our  house  was  a  thing  to  be 
lived  in,  and  that  furniture  was  made  to  be  used. 
That,  most  sensible  of  women,  Mrs.  Crowfield,  agreed 
fully  with  me,  that  in  our  house  there  was  to  be  noth- 
ing too  good  for  ourselves,  —  no  rooms  shut  up  in 
holiday  attire  to  be  enjoyed  by  strangers  for  three 
or  four  days  in  the  year,  while  we  lived  in  holes  and 
corners,  —  no  best  parlor  from  which  we  were  to  be 
excluded,  —  no  silver  plate  to  be  kept  in  the  safe  in 
the  bank,  and  brought  home  only  in  case  of  a  grand 
festival,  while  our  daily  meals  were  served  with  dingy 
Britannia.  "Strike  a  broad,  plain  average,"  I  said 
to  my  wife  ;  "  have  everything  abundant,  serviceable ; 
and  give  all  our  friends  exactly  what  we  have  our- 
selves, no  better  and  no  worse " ;  —  and  my  wife 
smiled  approval  on  my  sentiment. 

Smile !  she  did  more  than  smile.  My  wife  resem- 
bles one  of  those  convex  mirrors  I  have  sometimes 
seen.  Every  idea  I  threw  out,  plain  and  simple,  she 
reflected  back  upon  me  in.  a  thousand  Jittle  glitters 


6  House  and  Home  Papers. 

and  twinkles  of  her  own ;  she  made  my  crude  con- 
ceptions come  back  to  me  in  such  perfectly  dazzling 
performances  that  I  hardly  recognized  them.  My 
mind  warms  up,  when  I  think  what  a  home  that  wo- 
man made  of  our  house  from  the  very  first  day  she 
moved  into  it.  The  great,  large,  airy  parlor,  with  its 
ample  bow-window,  when  she  had  arranged  it,  seemed 
a  perfect  trap  to  catch  sunbeams.  There  was  none 
of  that  discouraging  trimness  and  newness  that  often 
repel  a  man's  bachelor-friends  after  the  first  call,  and 
make  them  feel,  — "  O,  well,  one  cannot  go  in  at 
Crowfield's  now,  unless  one  is  dressed;  one  might 
put  them  out."  The  first  thing  our  parlor  said  to 
any  one  was,  that  we  were  not  people  to  be  put  out, 
that  we  were  wide-spread,  easy-going,  and  jolly  folk. 
Even  if  Tom  Brown  brought  in  Ponto  and  his  shoot- 
ing-bag, there  was  nothing  in  that  parlor  to  strike 
terror  into  man  and  dog;  for  it  was  written  on  the 
face  of  things,  that  everybody  there  was  to  do  just 
as  he  or  she  pleased.  There  were  my  books  and 
my  writing-table  spread  out  with  all  its  miscellaneous 
confusion  of  papers  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  and 
there  were  my  wife's  great,  ample  sofa  and  work-table 
on  the  other;  there  I  wrote  my  articles  for  the 
"  North  American,"  and  there  she  turned  and  ripped 
and  altered  her  dresses,  and  there  lay  crochet  and 
knitting  and  embroidery  side  by  side  with  a  weekly 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet,  7 

basket  of  family-mending,  and  in  neighborly  contigu- 
ity with  the  last  book  of  the  season,  which  my  wife 
turned  over  as  she  took  her  after-dinner  lounge  on 
the  sofa.  •  And  in  the  bow-window  were  canaries 
always  singing,  and  a  great  stand  of  plants  always 
fresh  and  blooming,  and  ivy  which  grew  and  clam- 
bered and  twined  about  the  pictures.  Best  of  all, 
there  was  in  our  parlor  that  household  altar,  the 
blazing  wood-fire,  whose  wholesome,  hearty  crackle 
is  the  truest  household  inspiration.  I  quite  agree 
with  one  celebrated  American  author  who  holds  that 
an  open  fireplace  is  an  altar  of  patriotism.  Would 
our  Revolutionary  fathers  have  gone  barefooted  and 
bleeding  over  snows  to  defend  air-tight  stoves  and 
cooking-ranges  ?  I  trow  not.  It  was  the  memory  of 
the  great  open  kitchen-fire,  with  its  back-log  and  fore- 
stick  of  cord-wood,  its  roaring,  hilarious  voice  of 
invitation,  its  dancing  tongues  of  flame,  that  called 
to  them  through  the  snows  of  that  dreadful  winter  to 
keep  up  their  courage,  that  made  their  hearts  warm 
and  bright  with  a  thousand  reflected  memories.  Our 
neighbors  said  that  it  was  delightful  to  sit  by  our  fire, 
—  but  then,  for  their  part,  they  could  not  afford  it, 
wood  was  so  ruinously  dear,  and  all  that.  Most  of 
these  people  could  not,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
they  felt  compelled,  in  order  to  maintain  the  family- 
dignity,  to  keep  up  a  parlor  with  great  pomp  and 


8  House  and  Home  Papers. 

circumstance  of  upholstery,  where  they  sat  only  on 
dress-occasions,  and  of  course  the  wood-fire  was  out 
of  the  question. 

When  children  began  to  make  their  appearance  in 
our  establishment,  my  wife,  like  a  well-conducted 
housekeeper,  had  the  best  of  nursery-arrangements, 
—  a  room  all  warmed,  lighted,  and  ventilated,  and 
abounding  in  every  proper  resource  of  amusement  to 
the  rising  race ;  but  it  was  astonishing  to  see  how, 
notwithstanding  this,  the  centripetal  attraction  drew 
every  pair  of  little  pattering  feet  to  our  parlor. 

"My  dear,  why  don't  you  take  your  blocks  up- 
stairs ? " 

"  I  want  to  be  where  oo  are,"  said  with  a  piteous 
under-lip,  was  generally,  a  most  convincing  answer. 

Then  the  small  people  could  not  be  disabused  of 
the  idea  that  certain  chief  treasures  of  their  own 
would  be  safer  under  papa's  writing-table  or  mamma's 
sofa  than  in  the  safest  closet  of  their  own  domains. 
My  writing-table  wa<3  dock-yard  for  Arthur's  new 
ship,  and  stable  fjpf  little  Tom's  pepper-and-salt-col- 
ored pony,  and  carriage-house  for  Charley's  new 
wagon,  while  whole  armies  of  paper-dolls  kept  house 
in  the  recess  behind  mamma's  sofa. 

And  then,  in  due  time,  came  the  tribe  of  pets  who 
followed  the  little  ones  and  rejoiced  in  the  blaze  of 
the  firelight.  The  boys  had  a  splendid  Newfound- 
I 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  9 

land,  which,  knowing  our  weakness,  we  warned  them 
with  awful  gravity  was  never  to  be  a  parlor  dog ;  but, 
somehow,  what  with  little  beggings  and  pleadings  on 
the  part  of  Arthur  and  Tom,  and  the  piteous  melan- 
choly with  which  Rover  would  look  through  the  win- 
dow-panes, when  shut  out  from  the  blazing  warmth 
into  the  dark,  cold,  veranda,  it  at  last  came  to  pass 
that  Rover  gained  a  regular  corner  at  the  hearth,  a 
regular  status  in  every  family-convocation.  And  then 
came  a  little  black-and-tan  English  terrier  for  the 
girls ;  and  then  a  fleecy  poodle,  who  established  him- 
self on  the  corner  of  my  wife's  sofa ;  and  for  each  of 
these  some  little  voices  pleaded,  and  some  little  heart 
would  be  so  near  broken  at  any  slight,  that  my  wife 
and  I  resigned  ourselves  to  live  in  menagerie,  the  more 
so  as  we  were  obliged  to  confess  a  lurking  weakness 
towards  these  four-footed  children  ourselves. 

So  we  grew  and  flourished  together,  —  children, 
dogs,  birds,  flowers,  and  all ;  and  although  my  wife 
often,  in  paroxysms  of  housewifeliness  to  which  the 
best  of  women  are  subject,  woul^  declare  that  we 
never  were  fit  to  be'  seen,  yet  I  comforted  her  with 
the  reflection  that  there  were  few  people  whose 
friends  seemed  to  consider  them  better  worth  seeing, 
judging  by  the  stream  of  visitors  and  loungers  which 
was  always  setting  towards  our  parlor.  People 
seemed  to  find  it  good  to  be  there ;  they  said  it 


IO  House  and  Home  Papers. 

was  somehow  home-like  and  pleasant,  and  that  there 
was  a  kind  of  charm  about  it  that  made  it  easy  to 
talk  and  easy  to  live  ;  and  as  my  girls  and  boys  grew 
up,  there  seemed  always  to  be  some  merry  doing  or 
other  going  on  there.  Arty  and  Tom  brought  home 
their  college  friends,  who  straightway  took  root  there 
and  seemed  to  fancy  themselves  a  part  of  us.  We 
had  no  reception-rooms  apart,  where  the  girls  were 
to  receive  young  gentlemen ;  all  the  courting  and 
flirting  that  were  to  be  done  had  for  their  arena  the 
ample  variety  of  surface  presented  by  our  parlor, 
which,  with  sofas  and  screens  and  lounges  and  re- 
cesses and  writing-  and  work-tables,  disposed  here 
and  there,  and  the  genuine  laisser  aller  of  the  whole 
menage,  seemed,  on  the  whole,  to  have  offered  ample 
advantages  enough;  for,  at  the  time  I  write  of,  two 
daughters  were  already  established  in  marriage,  while 
my  youngest  was  busy,  as  yet,  in  performing  that 
little  -domestic  ballet  of  the  cat  with  the  mouse,  in 
the  case  of  a  most  submissive  youth  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

All  this  time  our  parlor-furniture,  though  of  that 
granitic  formation  I  have  indicated,  began  to  show 
marks  of  that  decay  to  which  things  sublunary  are 
liable.  I  cannot  say  that  I  dislike  this  look  in  a 
room.  Take  a  fine,  ample,  hospitable  apartment, 
where  all  things,  freely  and  generously  used,  softly 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  1 1 

and  indefinably  grow  old  together,  there  is  a  sort  of 
mellow  tone  and  keeping  which  pleases  my  eye. 
What  if  the  seams  of  the  great  inviting  arm-chair, 
where  so  many  friends  have  sat  and  lounged,  do  grow 
white  ?  What,  in  fact,  if  some  easy  couch  has  an  un- 
deniable hole  worn  in  its  friendly  cover?  I  regard 
with  tenderness  even  these  mortal  weaknesses  of 
these  servants  and  witnesses  of  our  good  times  and 
social  fellowship.  No  vulgar  touch  wore  them  ;  they 
may  be  called,  rather,  the  marks  and  indentations 
which  the  glittering  in  and  out  of  the  tide  of  social 
happiness  has  worn  in  the  rocks  of  our  strand.  I 
would  no  more  disturb  the  gradual  toning-down  and 
aging  of  a  well-used  set  of  furniture  by  smart  improve- 
ments than  I  would  have  a  modern  dauber  paint  in 
emendations  in  a  fine  old  picture. 

So  we  men  reason ;  but  women  do  not  always 
think  as  we  do.  There  is  a  virulent  demon  of  house- 
keeping, jiot  wholly  cast  out  in  the  best  of  them,  and 
which  often  breaks  out  in  unguarded  moments.  In 
fact,  Miss  Marianne,  being  on  the  lookout  for  furni- 
ture wherewith  to  begin  a  new  establishment,  and 
Jenny,  who  had  accompanied  her  in  her  peregrina- 
tions, had  more  than  once  thrown  out  little  dispar- 
aging remarks  on  the  time-worn  appearance  of  our 
establishment,  suggesting  comparison  with  those  of 
more  modern-furnished  rooms. 


12  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  It  is  positively  scandalous,  the  way  our  furniture 
looks,"  I  one  day  heard  one  of  them  declaring  to  her 
mother ;  "  and  this  old  rag  of  a  carpet ! " 

My  feelings  were  hurt,  not  the  less  so  that  I  knew 
that  the  large  cloth  which  covered  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  and  which  the  women  call  a  becking,  had  been 
bought  and  nailed  down  there,  after  a  solemn  family- 
counsel,  as  the  best  means  of  concealing  the  too  evi- 
dent darns  which  years  of  good  cheer  had  made  need- 
ful in  our  stanch  old  household  friend,  the  three-ply 
carpet,  made  in  those  days  when  to  be  a  three-ply  was 
a  pledge  of  continuance  and  service. 

Well,  it  was  a  joyous  and  bustling  day,  when,  after 
one  of  those  domestic  whirlwinds  which  the  women 
are  •  fond  of  denominating  house-cleaning,  the  new 
Brussels  carpet  was  at  length  brought  in  and  nailed 
down,  and  its  beauty  praised  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
Our  old  friends  called  in  and  admired,  and  all  seemed 
to  be  well,  except  that  I  had  that  light  and  delicate 
presage  of  changes  to  come  which  indefinitely  brooded 
over  me. 

The  first  premonitory  symptom  was  the  look  of 
apprehensive  suspicion  with  which  the  female  senate 
regarded  the  genial  sunbeams  that  had  always  glori- 
fied our  bow-window. 

"This  house  ought  to  have  inside  blinds,"  said 
Marianne,  with  all  the  confident  decision  of  youth ; 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  13 

"  this  carpet  will  be  ruined,  if  the  sun  is  allowed  to 
come  in  like  that." 

"  And  that  dirty  little  canary  must  really  be  hung 
in  the  kitchen,"  said  Jenny ;  "he  always  did  make 
such  a  litter,  scattering  his  seed-chippings  about ;  and 
he  never  takes  his  bath  without  flirting  out  some 
water.  And,  mamma,  it  appears  to  me  it  will  never 
do  to  have  the  plants  here.  Plants  are  always  either 
leaking  through  the  pots  upon  the  carpet,  or  scatter- 
ing bits  of  blossoms  and  dead  leaves,  or  some  acci- 
dent upsets  or  breaks  a  pot.  It  was  no  matter,  you 
know,  when  we  had  the  old  carpet ;  but  this  we  really 
want  to  have  kept  nice." 

Mamma  stood  her  ground  for  the  plants,  —  dar- 
lings of  her  heart  for  many  a  year,  —  but  temporized, 
and  showed  that  disposition  towards  compromise 
which  is  most  inviting  to  aggression. 

I  confess  I  trembled ;  for,  of  all  radicals  on  earth, 
none  are  to  be  compared  to  females  that  have  once 
in  hand  a  course  of  domestic  innovation  and  reform. 
The  sacred  fire,  the  divine  furor,  burns  in  their  bo- 
soms, they  become  perfect  Pythonesses,  and  every 
chair  they  sit  on  assumes  the  magic  properties  of  the 
tripod.  Hence  the  dismay  that  lodges  in  the  bosoms 
of  us  males  at  the  fateful  spring  and  autumn  seasons, 
denominated  house-cleaning.  Who  can  say  whither 
the  awful  gods,  the  prophetic  fates,  may  drive  our 


14  House  and  Home  Papers. 

fair  household  divinities  ;  what  sins  of  ours  may  be 
brought  to  light ;  what  indulgences  and  compliances, 
which  uninspired  woman  has  granted  in  her  ordinary 
mortal  hours,  may  be  torn  from  us?  He  who  has 
been  allowed  to  keep  a  pair  of  pet  slippers  in  a  con- 
cealed corner,  and  by  the  fireside  indulged  with  a 
chair  which  he  might,  ad  libitum,  fill  with  all  sorts  of 
pamphlets  and  miscellaneous  literature,  suddenly  finds 
himself  reformed  out  of  knowledge,  his  pamphlets 
tucked  away  into  pigeon-holes  and  corners,  and  his 
slippers  put  in  their  place  in  the  hall,  with,  perhaps,  a 
brisk  insinuation  about  the  shocking  dust  and  dis- 
order that  men  will  tolerate. 

The  fact  was,  that  the  very  first  night  after  the 
advent  of  the  new  carpet  I  had  a  prophetic  dream. 
Among  our  treasures  of  art  was  a  little  etching,  by  an 
English  artist-friend,  the  subject  of  which  was  the 
gambols  of  the  household  fairies  in  a  baronial  library 
after  the  household  were  in  bed.  The  little  people 
are  represented  in  every  attitude  of  frolic  enjoyment. 
Some  escalade  the  great  arm-chair,  and  look  down 
from  its  top  as  from  a  domestic  Mont  Blanc ;  some 
climb  about  the  bellows  ;  some  scale  the  shaft  of  the 
shovel ;  while  some,  forming  in  magic  ring,  dance 
festively  on  the  yet  glowing  hearth.  Tiny  troops 
promenade  the  writing-table.  One  perches  himself 
quaintly  on  the  top  of  the  inkstand,  and  holds  col- 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  15 

loquy  with  another  who  sits  cross-legged  on  a  paper- 
weight, while  a  companion  looks  down  on  them  from 
the  top  of  the  sand-box.  It  was  an  ingenious  little 
device,  and  gave  me  the  idea,  which  I  often  expressed 
to  my  wife,  that  much  of  the  peculiar  feeling  of  se- 
curity, composure,  and  enjoyment  which  seems  to  be 

9 

the  atmosphere  of  some  rooms  and  houses  came  from 
the  unsuspected  presence  of  these  little  people,  the 
household  fairies,  so  that  the  belief  in  their  existence 
became  a  solemn  article  of  faith  with  me. 

Accordingly,  that  evening,  after  the  installation  of 
the  carpet,  when  my  wife  and  daughters  had  gone  to 
bed,  as  I  sat  with  my  slippered  feet  before  the  last 
coals  of  the  fire,  I  fell  asleep  in  my  chair,  and,  lo  ! 
my  own  parlor  presented  to  my  eye  a  scene  of  busy 
life.  The  little  people  in  green  were  tripping  to 
and  fro,  but  in  great  confusion.  Evidently  something 
was  wrong  among  them ;  for  they  were  fussing  and 
chattering  with  each  other,  as  if  preparatory  to  a  gen- 
eral movement.  In  the  region  of  the  bow-window  I 
observed  a  tribe  of  them  standing  with  tiny  valises 
and  carpet-bags  in  their  hands,  as  though  about  to 
depart  on  a  journey.  On  my  writing-table  another  set 
stood  around  my  inkstand  and  pen-rack,  who,  point- 
ing to  those  on  the  floor,  seemed  to  debate  some 
question  among  themselves  ;  while  others  of  them 
appeared  to  be  collecting  and  packing  away  in  tiny 


1 6  House  and  Home  Papers. 

trunks  certain  fairy  treasures,  preparatory  to  a  general 
departure.  When  I  looked  at  the  social  hearth,  at  my 
wife's  sofa  and  work-basket,  I  saw  similar  appear- 
ances of  dissatisfaction  and  confusion.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  the  household  fairies  were  discussing  the 
question  of  a  general  and  simultaneous  removal.  I 
groaned  in  spirit,  and,  stretching  out  my  hand,  began 
a  conciliatory  address,  when  whisk  went  the  whole 
scene  from  before  my  eyes,  and  I  awaked  to  behold 
the  form  of  my  wife  asking  me  if  I  were  ill  or  had 
had  the  nightmare  that  I  groaned  so.  I  told  her 
my  dream,  and  we  laughed  at  it  together. 

"  We  must  give  way  to  the  girls  a  little,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  natural,  you  know,  -that  they  should  wish  us  to 
appear  a  little  as  other  people  do.  The  fact  is,  our 
parlor  is  somewhat  dilapidated  ;  think  how  many  years 
we  have  lived  in  it  without  an  article  of  new  furni- 
ture." 

"  I  hate  new  furniture,"  I  remarked,  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  my  soul.  "  I  hate  anything  new." 

My  wife  answered  me  discreetly,  according  to'  ap- 
proved principles  of  diplomacy.  I  was  right.  She 
sympathized  with  me.  At  the  same  time,  it  was  not 
necessary,  she  remarked,  that  we  should  keep  a  hole 
in  our  sofa-cover  and  arm-chair ;  there  would  certainly 
be  no  harm  in  sending  them  to  the  upholsterer's  to 
be  new-covered  ;  she  did  n't  much  mind,  for  her  part, 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  17 

moving  her  plants  to  the  south  back-room,  and  the 
bird  would  do  well  enough  in  the  kitchen  :  I  had 
often  complained  of  him  for  singing  vociferously  when 
I  was  reading  aloud. 

So  our  sofa  went  to  the  upholsterer's  ;  but  the  up- 
holsterer was  struck  with  such  horror  at  its  clumsy, 
antiquated,  unfashionable  appearance,  that  he  felt 
bound  to  -make  representations  to  my  wife  and  daugh- 
ters :  positively,  it  would  be  better  for  them  to  get  a 
new  one,  of  a  tempting  pattern,  which  he  showed  them, 
than  to  try  to  do  anything  with  that.  With  a  stitch  or 
so  here  and  there  it  might  do  for  a  basement  dining- 
room  ;  but,  for  a  parlor,  he  gave  it, as  his  disinterested 
opinion,  —  he  must  say,  if  the  case  were  his  own,  he 
should  get,  etc.,  etc.  In  short,  we  had  a  new  sofa  and 
new  chairs,  and  the  plants  and  the  birds  were  ban- 
ished, and  some  dark  green  blinds  were  put  up  to 
exclude  the  sun  from  the  parlor,  and  the  blessed  lumi- 
nary was  allowed  there  only  at  rare  intervals,  when  my 
wife  and  daughters  were  out  shopping,  and  I  acted 
out  my  uncivilized  male  instincts  by  pulling  up  every 
shade  and  vivifying  the  apartment  as  in  days  of  old. 

But  this  was  not  the  worst  of  it.  The  new  furniture 
and  new  carpet  formed  an  opposition  party  in  the 
room.  I  believe  in  my  heart  that  for  every  little 
household  fairy  that  went  out  with  the  dear  old  things 
there  came  in  a  tribe  of  discontented  brownies  with 


1 8  House  and  Home  Papers. 

the  new  ones.  These  little  wretches  were  always 
twitching  at  the  gowns  of  my  wife  and  daughters,  jog- 
ging their  elbows,  and  suggesting  odious  comparisons 
between  the  smart  new  articles  and  what  remained  of 
the  old  ones.  They  disparaged  my  writing-table  in 
the  corner ;  they  disparaged  the  old-fashioned  lounge 
in  the  other  corner,  which  had  been  the  maternal 
throne  for  years ;  they  disparaged  the  work-table,  the 
work-basket,  with  constant  suggestions  of  how  such 
things  as  these  would  look  in  certain  well-kept  parlors 
where  new-fashioned  furniture  of  the  same  sort  as 
ours  existed. 

"  We  don't  have  any  parlor,"  said  Jenny,  one  day. 
"  Our  parlor  has  always  been  a  sort  of  log-cabin,  — 
library,  study,  nursery,  greenhouse,  all  combined.  We 
never  have  had  things  like  other  people." 

"  Yes,  and  this  open  fire  makes  such  a  dust ;  and 
this  carpet  is  one  that  shows  every  speck  of  dust ;  it 
keeps  one  always  on  the  watch." 

"  I  wonder  why  papa  never  had  a  study  to  himself ; 
I  'm  sure  I  should  think  he  would  like  it  better  than 
sitting  here  among  us  all.  Now  there  's  the  great 
south-room  off  the  dining-room  ;  if  he  would  only 
move  his  things  there,  and  have  his  open  fire,  we 
could  then  close  up  the  fireplace,  and  put  lounges  in 
the  recesses,  and  mamma  could  have  her  things  in  the 
nursery,  —  and  then  we  should  have  a  parlor  fit  to  be 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  19 

I  overheard  all  this,  though  I  pretended  not  to,  — 
the  little  busy  chits  supposing  me  entirely  buried  in 
the  recesses  of  a  German  book  over  which  I  was 
poring. 

There  are  certain  crises  in  a  man's  life  when  the 
female  element  in  his  household  asserts  itself  in  domi- 
nant forms  that  seem  to  threaten  to  overwhelm  him. 
The  fair  creatures,  who  in  most  matters  have  depended 
on  his  judgment,  evidently  look  upon  him  at  these 
seasons  as  only  a  forlorn,  incapable  male  creature,  to 
be  cajoled  and  flattered  and  persuaded  out  of  his 
native  blindness  and  absurdity  into  the  fairy-land  of 
their  wishes. 

"  Of  course,  mamma,"  said  the  busy  voices,  "  men 
can't  understand  such  things.  What  can  men  know  of 
housekeeping,  and  how  things  ought  to  look  ?  Papa 
never  goes  into  company ;  he  don't  know  and  don't 
care  how  the  world  is  doing,  and  don't  see  that  no- 
body now  is  living  as  we  do." 

"  Aha,  my  little  mistresses,  are  you  there  ? "  I 
thought  ;  and  I  mentally  resolved  on  opposing  a 
great  force  of  what  our  politicians  call  backbone  to 
this  pretty  domestic  conspiracy. 

"  When  you  get  my  writing-table  out  of  this  corner, 
my  pretty  dears,  I  'd  thank  you  to  let  me  know  it." 

Thus  spake  I  in  my  blindness,  fool  that  I  was. 
Jupiter  might  as  soon  keep  awake,  when  Juno  came 


2O  House  and  Home  Papers. 

P 

in  best  bib  and  tucker,  and  with  the  cestus  of  Venus, 
to  get  him  to  sleep.  Poor  Slender  might  as  well  hope 
to  get  the  better  of  pretty  Mistress  Anne  Page,  as  one 
of  us  clumsy-footed  men  might  endeavor  to  escape 
from  the  tangled  labyrinth  of  female  wiles. 

In  short,  in  less  than  a  year  it  was  all  done,  without 
any  quarrel,  any  noise,  any  violence,  —  done,  I  scarce 
knew  when  or  how,  but  with  the  utmost  deference  to 
my  wishes,  the  most  amiable  hopes  that  I  would  not 
put  myself  out,  the  most  sincere  protestations  that,  if 
I  liked  it  better  as  it  was,  my  goddesses  would  give 
up  and  acquiesce.  In  fact,  I  seemed  to  do  it  of  my- 
self, constrained  thereto  by  what  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon has  so  happily  called  the  logic  of  events,  —  that 
old,  well-known  logic  by  which  the  man  who  has  once 
said  A  must  say  B,  and  he  who  has  said  B  must  say 
the  whole  alphabet.  In  a  year,  we  had  a  parlor  with 
two  lounges  in  decorous  recesses,  a  fashionable  sofa, 
and  six  chairs  and  a  looking-glass,  and  a  grate  always 
shut  up,  and  a  hole  in  the  floor  which  kept  the  parlor 
warm,  and  great,  heavy  curtains  that  kept  out  all  the 
light  that  was  not  already  excluded  by  the  green 
shades. 

It  was  as  proper  and  orderly  a  parlor  as  those  of 
our  most  fashionable  neighbors ;  and  when  our  friends 
called,  we  took  them  stumbling  into  its  darkened  soli- 
tude, and  opened  a  faint  crack  in  one  of  the  window- 


The  Ravages  of  a  Carpet.  21 

shades,  and  came  down  in  our  best  clothes,  and  talked 
with  them  there.  Our  old  friends  rebelled  at  this, 
and  asked  what  they  had  done  to  be  treated  so,  and 
complained  so  bitterly  that  gradually  we  let  them  into 
the  secret  that  there  was  a  great  south-room  which  I 
had  taken  for  my  study,  where  we  all  sat,  where  the 
old  carpet  was  down,  where  the  sun  shone  in  at  the 
great  window,  where  my  wife's  plants  flourished  and 
the  canary-bird  sang,  and  my  wife  had  her  sofa  in  the 
corner,  and  the  old  brass  andirons  glistened  and  the 
wood-fire  crackled,  —  in  short,  a  room  to  which  all  the 
household  fairies  had  emigrated. 

When  they  once  had  found  that  out,  it  was  difficult 
to  get  any  of  them  to  sit  in  our  parlor.  I  had  pur- 
posely christened  the  new  room  my  study,  that  I  might 
stand  on  my  rights  as  master  of  ceremonies  there, 
though  I  opened  wide  arms  of  welcome  to  any  who 
chose  to  come.  So,  then,  it  would  often  come  to  pass, 
that,  when  we  were  sitting  round  the  fire  in  my  study 
of  an  evening,  the  girls  would  say,  — 

"Come,  what  do  we  always  stay  here  for?  Why 
don't  we  ever  sit  in  the  parlor  ? " 

And  then  there  would  be  manifested  among  guests 
and  family-friends  a  general  unwillingness  to  move. 

"  O,  hang  it,  girls  ! "  would  Arthur  say ;  "  the  parlor 
is  well  enough,  all  right ;  let  it  stay  as  it  is,  and  let 
a  fellow  stay  where  he  can  do  as  he  pleases  and  feels 


22  House  and  Home  Papers. 

f| 

at  home "  ;   and   to    this  view  of  the   matter  would 

respond  divers  of  the  nice  young  bachelors  who  were 
Arthur's  and  Tom's  sworn  friends. 

In  fact,  nobody  wanted  to  stay  in  our  parlor  now. 
It  was  a  cold,  correct,  accomplished  fact ;  the  house- 
hold fairies  had  left  it,  —  and  when  the  fairies  leave  a 
room,  nobody  ever  feels  at  home  in  it.  No  pictures, 
curtains,  no  wealth  of  mirrors,  no  elegance  of  lounges, 
can  in  the  least  make  up  for  their  absence.  They  are 
a  capricious  little  set ;  there  are  rooms  where  they  will 
not  stay,  and  rooms  where  they  will ;  but  no  one  can 
ever  have  a  good  time  without  them. 


II, 

HOME-KEEPING   vs.   HOUSE-KEEPING. 

I  AM  a  frank,  open-hearted  man,  as,  perhaps,  you 
have  by  this  time  perceived^  and  you  wfll  not, 
therefore,  be  surprised  to  know  that  I  read  my  last 
article  on  the  carpet  to  my  wife  and  the  girls  before 
I  sent  it  to  the  "  Atlantic,"  and  we  had  a  hearty  laugh 
ov^r  it  together.  My  wife  and  the  girls,  in  fact,  felt 
that  they  could  afford  to  laugh,  for  they  had  carried 
their  point,  their  reproach  among  women  was  taken 
away,  they,  had  become  like  other  folks.  Like  other 
folks  they  had  a  parlor,  an  undeniable  best  parlor,, 
shut  up  and  darkened,  with  all  proper  carpets,  cur- 
tains, lounges,  and  marble-topped  tables,  too  good  for 
human  nature's  daily  food ;  and  being  sustained  by 
this  consciousness,  they  cheerfully  went  on  receiving 
their  friends  in  the  study,  and  having  good  times  in 
the  old  free-and-easy  way ;  for  did  not  everybody 
know  that  this  room  was  not  their  best  ?  and  if  the 
furniture  was  old-fashioned  and  a  little  the  worse  for 
antiquity,  was  it  not  certain  that  they  had  better,  which 
they  could  use,  if  they  would  ? 


24  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  And  supposing  we  wanted  to  give  a  party,"  said 
Jenny,  "  how  nicely  our  parlor  would  light  up  !  Not 
that  we  ever  do  give  parties,  but  if  we  should,  —  and 
for  a  wedding-reception,  you  know." 

I  felt  the  force  of  the  necessity ;  it  was  evident 
that  the  four  or  five  hundred  extra  which  we  had 
expended  was  no  more  than  such  solemn  possibili- 
ties required. 

"  Now,  papa  thinks  we  have  been  foolish,"  said 
Marianne,  "  and  he  has  his  own  way  of  making  a 
good  story  of  it ;  but,  after  all,  I  desire  to  know  if 
people  are  never  to  get  a  new  carpet.  Must  we  keep 
the  old  one  till  it  actually  wears  to  tatters  ? " 

This  is  a  specimen  of  the  rediictio  ad  absurdum 
which  our  fair  antagonists  of  the  other  sex  are  fond 
of  employing.  They  strip  what  we  say  of  all  delicate 
shadings  and  illusory  phrases,  and  reduce  it  to  some 
bare  question  of  fact,  with  which  they  make  a  home- 
thrust  at  us. 

"  Yes,  that 's  it ;  are  people  never  to  get  a  new  car- 
pet ? "  echoed  Jenny. 

"  My  dears,"  I  replied,  "it  is  a  fact  that  to  introduce 
anything  new  into  an  apartment  hallowed  by  many 
home-associations,  where  all  things  have  grown  old 
together,  requires  as  much  care  and  adroitness  as 
for  an  architect  to  restore  an  arch  or  niche  in  a  fine 
old  ruin.  The  fault  of  our  carpet  was  that  it  was  in 


Home-Keeping  vs.  House-Keeping.          2$ 

another  style  from  everything  in  our  room,  and  made 
everything  in  it  look  dilapidated.  Its  colors,  material, 
and  air  belonged  to  another  manner  of  life,  and  were 
a  constant  plea  for  alterations  ;  and  you  see  it  actu- 
ally drove  out  and  expelled  the  whole  furniture  of  the 
room,  and  I  am  not  sure  yet  that  it  may  not  entail  on 
us  the  necessity  of  refurnishing  the  whole  house." 

"  My  dear ! "  said  my  wife,  in  a  tone  of  remon- 
strance ;  but  Jane  and  Marianne  laughed  and  col- 
ored. 

"Confess,  now,"  said  I,  looking  at  them,  "have 
you  not  had  secret  designs  on  the  hall-  and  stair- 
carpet?" 

"  Now,  papa,  how  could  you  know  it  ?  I  only  said 
to  Marianne  that  to  have  Brussels  in  the  parlor  and 
that  old  mean-looking  ingrain  carpet  in  the  hall  did 
not  seem  exactly  the  thing ;  and,  in  fact,  you  know, 
mamma,  Messrs.  Ketchem  &  Co.  showed  us  such  a 
lovely  pattern,  designed  to  harmonize  with  our  parlor- 
carpet." 

"  I  know  it,  girls,"  said  my  wife  ;  "  but  you  know 
I  said  at  once  that  such  an  expense  was  not  to  be 
thought  of." 

"  Now,  girls,"  said  I,  "  let  me  fell  you  a  story  I 
heard  once  of  a  very  sensible  old  New  England  min- 
ister, who  lived,  as  our  country  ministers  generally  do, 
rather  near  to  the  bone,  but  still  quite  contentedly.  It 


26  House  and  Home  Papers. 

was  in  the  days  when  knee-breeches  and  long  stock- 
ings were  worn,  and  this  good  man  was  offered  a 
present  of  a  very  nice  pair  of  black  silk  hose.  He 
declined,  saying,  he  '  could  not  afford  to  wear  them.' 

"'Not  afford  it?'  said  the  friend;  'why,  I  give 
them  to  you.' 

" '  Exactly ;  but  it  will  cost  me-  not  less  than  two 
hundred  dollars  to  take  them,  and  I  cannot  do  it.' 

" '  How  is  that  ? ' 

" '  Why,  in  the  first  place,  I  shall  no  sooner  put 
them  on  than  my  wife  will  say,  "  My  dear,  you  must 
have  a  new  pair  of  knee-breeches,"  and  I  shall  get 
them.  Then  my  wife  will  say,  "  My  dear,  how 
shabby  your  coat  is  !  You  must  have  a  new  one," 
and  I  shall  get  a  new  coat.  Then  she  will  say, 
"  Now,  my  dear,  that  hat  will  never  do,"  and  then 
I  shall  have  a  new  hat ;  and  then  I  shall  say,  "  My 
dear,  it  will,  never  do  for  me  to  be  so  fine  and  you  to 
wear  your  old  gown,"  and  so  my  wife  will  get  a  new 
gown ;  and  then  the  new  gown  will  require  a  new 
shawl  and  a  new  bonnet ;  all  of  which  we  shall  not 
feel  the  need  of,  if  I  don't  take  this  pair  of  silk  stock- 
ings, for,  as  long  as  we  don't  see  them,  our  old  things 
seem  very  well  suited  to  each  other.'  " 

The  girls  laughed  at  this  story,  and  I  then  added, 
in  my  most  determined  manner,  — 

"  But  I  must  warn  you,  girls,  that  I  have  compro- 


Home-Keeping  vs.  House-Keeping.         27 

mised  to  the  utmost  extent  of  my  power,  and  that  I 
intend  to  plant  myself  on  the  old  stair-carpet  in  deter- 
mined resistance.  I  have  no  mind  to  be  forbidden 
the  use  of  the  front-stairs,  or  condemned  to  get  up 
into  my  bedroom  by  a  private  ladder,  as  I  should  be 
immediately,  if  there  were  a  new  carpet  down." 

"  Why,  papa  ! " 

"  Would  it  not  be  so  ?  Can  the  sun  shine  in  the 
parlor  now  for  fear  of  fading  the  carpet  ?  Can  we 
keep  a  fire  there  for  fear  of  making  dust,  or  use  the 
lounges  and  sofas  for  fear  of  wearing  them  out  ?  If 
you  got  a  new  entry-  and  stair-carpet,  as  I  said,  I 
should  have  to  be  at  the  expense  of  another  stair- 
case to  get  up  to  our  bedroom." 

"  O  no,  papa,"  *said  Jane,  innocently ;  "  there  are 
very  pretty  druggets,  now,  for  covering  stair-carpets, 
so  that  they  can  be  used  without  hurting  them." 

"  Put  one  over  the  old  carpet,  then,"  said  I,  "  and 
our  acquaintance  will  never  know  but  it  is  a  new 
one." 

All  the  female  senate  laughed  at  this  proposal,  and 
said  it  sounded  just  like  a  man. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  standing  up  resolutely  for  my  sex, 
"  a  man's  ideas  on  woman's  matters  may  be  worth 
some  attention.  I  flatter  myself  that  an  intelligent, 
educated  man  does  n't  think  upon  and  observe  with 
interest  any  particular  subject  for  years  of  his  life 


28  House  and  Home  Papers. 

without  gaining  some  ideas  respecting  it  that  are  good 
for  something ;  at  all  events,  I  have  written  another 
article  for  the  'Atlantic,'  which  I  will  read  to  you." 

"  Well,  wait  one  minute,  papa,  till  we  get  our  work," 
said  the  girls,  who,  to  say  the  truth,  always  exhibit  a 
flattering  interest  in  anything  their  papa  writes,  and 
who  have  the  good  taste  never  to  interrupt  his  read- 
ings with  any  conversations  in  an  undertone  on  cross- 
stitch  and  floss-silks,  as  the  manner  of  some  is.  Hence 
the  little  feminine  bustle  of  arranging  all  these  matters 
beforehand.  Jane,  or  Jenny,  as  I  call  her  in  my 
good-natured  moods,  put  on  a  fresh  clear  stick  of 
hickory,  of  that  species  denominated  shagbark,  which 
is  full  of  most  charming  slivers,  burning  with  such  a 
clear  flame,  and  emitting  such  a  delicious  perfume 
in  burning,  that  I  would  not  change  it  with  the  mil- 
lionnaire  who  kept  up  his  fire  with  cinnamon. 

You  must  know,  my  dear  Mr.  Atlantic,  and  you, 
my  confidential  friends  of  the  reading  public,  that 
there  is  a  certain  magic  or  spiritualism  which  I  have 
the  knack  of  in  regard  to  these  mine  articles,  in  vir- 
tue of  which  my  wife  and  daughters  never  hear  or 
see  the  little  personalities  respecting  them  which  form 
parts  of  my  papers.  By  a  peculiar  arrangement  which 
I  have  made  with  the  elves  of  the  inkstand  and  the 
familiar  spirits  of  the  quill,  a  sort  of  glamour  falls 
on  their  eyes  and  ears  when  I  am  reading,  or  when 


Home-Keeping  vs.  House- Keeping.          29 

they  read  the  parts  personal  to  themselves ;  otherwise 
their  sense  of  feminine  propriety  would  be  shocked  at 
the  free  way  in  which  they  and  their  most  internal 
affairs  are  confidentially  spoken  of  between  me  and 
you,  O  loving  readers. 

Thus,  in  an  undertone,  I  tell  you  that  my  little 
Jenny,  as  she  is  zealously  and  systematically  arrang- 
ing the  fire,  and  trimly  whisking  every  untidy  particle 
of  ashes  from  the  hearth,  shows  in  every  movement 
of  her  little  hands,  in  the  cock  of  her  head,  in  the 
knowing,  observing  glance  of  her  eye,  and  in  all  her 
energetic  movements,  that  her  small  person  is  endued 
and  made  up  of  the  very  expressed  essence  of  house- 
wifeliness,  —  she  is  the  very  attar,  not  of  roses,  but  of 
housekeeping.  Care-taking  and  thrift  and  neatness 
are  a  nature  to  her ;  she  is  as  dainty  and  delicate 
in  her  person  as  a  white  cat,  as  everlastingly  busy  as  a 
bee ;  and  all  the  most  needful  faculties  of  time,  weight, 
measure,  and  proportion  ought  to  be  fully  developed 
in  her  skull,  if  there  is  any  truth  in  phrenology.  Be- 
sides all  this,  she  has  a  sort  of  hard-grained  little  vein 
of  common  sense,  against  which  my  fanciful  concep- 
tions and  poetical  notions  are  apt  to  hit  with  just  a 
little  sharp  grating,  if  they  are  not  well  put.  In  fact, 
this  kind  of  woman  needs  carefully  to  be  idealized  in 
the  process  of  education,  or  she  will  stiffen  and  dry. 
as  she  grows  old,  into  a  veritable  household  Pharisee, 


3O  House  and  Home  Papers. 

a  sort  of  domestic  tyrant.  She  needs  to  be  trained  in 
artistic  values  and  artistic  weights  and  measures,  to 
study  all  the  arts  and  sciences  of  the  beautiful,  and 
then  she  is  charming.  Most  useful,  most  needful, 
these  little  women  :  they  have  the  centripetal  force 
which  keeps  all  the  domestic  planets  from  gyrating 
and  frisking  in  unseemly  orbits, —  and  properly  trained, 
they  fill  a  house  with  the  beauty  of  order,  the  harmony 
and  consistency  of  proportion,  the  melody  of  things 
moving  in  time  and  tune,  without  violating  the  grace- 
ful appearance  of  ease  which  Art  requires. 

So  I  had  an  eye  to  Jenny's  education  in  my  article 
which  I  unfolded  and  read,  and  which  was  entitled, 

HOME-KEEPING  vs.  HOUSE-KEEPING. 

THERE  are  many  women  who  know  how  to  keep  a 
house,  but  there  are  but  few  that  know  how  to  keep 
a  home.  To  keep  a  house  may  seem  a  complicated 
affair,  but  it  is  a  thing  that  may  be  learned  ;  it  lies  in 
the  region  of  the  material,  in  the  region  of  weight, 
measure,  color,  and  the  positive  forces  of  life.  To 
keep  a  home  lies  not  merely  in  the  sphere  of  all  these, 
but  it  takes  in  the  intellectual,  the  social,  the  spiritual, 
the  immortal. 

Here  the  hickory-stick  broke  in  two,  and  the  two 


Home-Keeping  vs.  House-Keeping.          31 

brands  fell  controversially  out  and  apart  on  the  hearth, 
scattering  the  ashes  and  coals,  and  calling  for  Jenny 
and  the  hearth:brush.  Your  wood-fire  has  this  foible, 
that  it  needs  something  to  be  done  to  it  every  five 
minutes ;  but,  after  all,  these  little,  interruptions  of 
our  bright-faced  genius  are  like  the  piquant  sallies  of 
a  clever  friend,  —  they  do  not  strike  us  as  unreason- 
able. 

When  Jenny  had  laid  down  her  brush,  she  said, — 

"  Seems  to  me,  papa,  you  are  beginning  to  soar 
into  metaphysics." 

"  Everything  in  creation  is  metaphysical  in  its  ab- 
stract terms,"  said  I,  with  a  look  calculated  to  reduce 
her  to  a  respectful  condition.  "  Everything  has  a 
subjective  and  an  objective  mode  of  presentation." 

"  There  papa  goes  with  subjective  and  objective  !  " 
said  Marianne.  "  For  my  part,  I  never  can  remember 
which  is  which." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Jenny ;  "  it  's  what  our  old 
nurse  used  to  call  internal  and  <?#/-ternal,  —  I  always 
remember  by  that." 

"  Come,  my  dears,"  said  my  wife,  "  let  your  father 
read  "  ;  so  I  went  on  as  follows  :  — 

I  remember  in  my  bachelor  days  going  with  my 
boon  companion,  Bill  Carberry,  to  look  at  the  house 
to  which  he  was  in  a  few  weeks  to  introduce  his  bride. 


32  House  and  Home  Papers. 

Bill  was  a  gallant,  free-hearted,  open-handed  fellow, 
the  life  of  our  whole  set,  and  we  felt  that  natural 
aversion  to  losing  him  that  bachelor  friends  would. 
How  could  we  tell  under  what  strange  aspects  he 
might  look  forth  upon  us,  when  once  he  had  passed 
into  "  that  undiscovered  country  "  of  matrimony  ?  But 
Bill  laughed  to  scorn  our  apprehensions. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Chris,"  he  said,  as  he  sprang 
cheerily  up  the  steps  and  unlocked  the  door  of  his 
future  dwelling,  "  do  you  know  what  I  chose  this 
house  for  ?  Because  it 's  a  social-looking  house.  Look 
there,  now,"  he  said,  as  he  ushered  me  into  a  pair  of 
parlors,  — "  look  at  those  long  south  windows,  the 
sun  lies  there  nearly  all  day  long ;  see  what  a  capital 
corner  there  is  for  a  lounging-chair ;  fancy  us,  Chris, 
with  our  books  or  our  paper,  spread  out  loose  and 
easy,  and  Sophie  gliding  in  and  out  like  a  sunbeam. 
I  'm  getting  poetical,  you  see.  Then,  did  you  ever 
see  a  better,  wider,  airier  dining-room  ?  What  capital 
suppers  and  things  we  '11  have  there !  the  nicest  times, 
—  everything  free  and  easy,  you  know, — just  what 
I  Ve  always  wanted  a  house  for.  I  tell  you,  Chris, 
you  and  Tom  Innis  shall  have  latch-keys  just  like 
mine,  and  there  is  a  capital  chamber  there  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs,  so  that  you  can  be  free  to  come  and  go. 
And  here  now  's  the  library,  —  fancy  this  full  of  books 
and  engravings  from,  the  ceiling  to  the  floor ;  here  you 


Home-Keeping  vs.  Hotise-Keeping.          33 

shall  come  just  as  you  please  and  ask  no  questions,  — 
all  the  same  as  if  it  were  your  own,  you  know." 

"  And  Sophie,  what  will  she  say  to  all  this  ? " 

"  Why,  you  know  Sophie  is  a  prime  friend  to  both 
of  you,  and  a  capital  girl  to  keep  things  going.  O, 
Sophie  '11  make  a  house  of  this,  you  may  depend  ! " 

A  day  or  two  after,  Bill  dragged  me  stumbling  over 
boxes  and  through  straw  and  wrappings  to  show  me 
the  glories  of  the  parlor-furniture,  —  with  which  he 
seemed  pleased  as  a  child  with  a  new  toy. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  ;  "  see  these  chairs,  garnet- 
colored  satin,  with  a  pattern  on  each ;  well,  the  sofa 's 
just  like  them,  and  the  curtains  to  match,  and  the 
carpets  made  for  the  floor  with  centre-pieces  and 
borders.  I  never  saw  anything  more  magnificent  in 
my  life.  Sophie's  governor  furnishes  the  house,  and 
everything  is  to  be  A  No.  i,  and  all  that,  you  see. 
Messrs.  Curtain  and  Collamore  are  coming  to  make 
the  rooms  up,  and  her  mother  is  busy  as  a  bee  getting 
us  in  order." 

"  Why,  Bill,"  said  I,  "  you  are  going  to  be  lodged 
like  a  prince.  I  hope  you  '11  be  able  to  keep  it  up  ; 
but  law-business  comes  in  rather  slowly  at  first,  old 
fellow." 

"  Well,  you  know  it  is  n't  the  way  I  should  furnish, 
if  my  capital  was  the  one  to  cash  the  bills ;  but  then, 
you  see,  Sophie's  people  do  it,  and  let  them,  —  a  girl 
2*  c 


34  House  and  Home  Papers. 

does  n't  want  to  come  down  out  of  the  style  she  has 
always  lived  in." 

I  said  nothing,  but  had  an  oppressive  presentiment 
that  social  freedom  would  expire  in  that  house,  crushed 
under  a  weight  of  upholstery. 

But  there  came  in  due  time  the  wedding  and  the 
wedding-reception,  and  we  all  went  to  see  Bill  in  his 
new  house  splendidly  lighted  up  and  complete  from 
top  to  toe,  and  everybody  said  what  a  lucky  fellow  he 
was ;  but  that  was  about  the  end  of  it,  so  far  as  our 
visiting  was  concerned.  The  running  in,  and  drop- 
ping in,  and  keeping  latch-keys,  and  making  informal 
calls,  that  had  been  forespoken,  seemed  about  as 
likely  as  if  Bill  had  lodged  in  the  Tuileries.  • 

Sophie,  who  had  always  been  one  of  your  snap- 
ping, sparkling,  busy  sort  of  girls,  began  at  once  to 
develop  her  womanhood,  and  show  her  principles,  and 
was  as  different  from  her  former  self  as  your -careworn, 
mousing  old  cat  is  from  your  rollicking,  frisky  kitten. 
Not  but  that  Sophie  was  a  good  girl.  She  had  a  cap- 
ital heart,  a  good,  true  womanly  one,  and  was  loving 
and  obliging  ;  but  still  she  was  one  of  the  desperately 
painstaking,  conscientious  sort  of  women  whose  very 
blood,  as  they  grow  older,  is  devoured  with  anxiety, 
and  she  came  of  a  race  of  women  in  whom  house- 
keeping was  more  than  an  art  or  a  science,  —  it  was, 
so  to  speak,  a  religion.  Sophie's  mother,  aunts,  and 


House-Keeping  vs.  Home-Keeping.          35 

grandmothers,  for  nameless  generations  back,  were 
known  and  celebrated  housekeepers.  They  might' 
have  been  genuine  descendants  of  the  inhabitants  of 
that  Hollandic  town  of  Broeck,  celebrated  by  Wash- 
ington Irving,  where  the  cows'  tails  are  kept  tied  up 
with  unsullied  blue  ribbons,  and  the  ends  of  the  fire- 
wood are  painted  white.  He  relates  how  a  celebrated 
preacher,  visiting .  this  town,  found  it  impossible  to 
draw  these  housewives  from  their  earthly  views  and 
employments,  until  he  took  to  preaching  on  the  neat- 
ness of  the  celestial  city,  the  unsullied  crystal  of  its 
walls  and  the  polish  of  its  golden  pavement,  when  the 
faces  of  all  the  housewives  were  set  Zionward  at  once. 

Now  this  solemn  and  earnest  view  of  housekeeping 
is  onerous  enough  when  a  poor  girl  first  enters  on  the 
care  of  a  moderately  furnished  house,  where  the  ar- 
ticles are  not  too  expensive  to.  be  reasonably  renewed 
as  time  and  use  wear  them  ;  but  it  is  infinitely  worse 
when  a  cataract  of  splendid*  furniture  is  heaped  upon 
her  care,  —  when  splendid  crystals  cut  into  her  con- 
science, and  mirrors  reflect  her  duties,  and  moth  and 
rust  stand  ever  ready  to  devour  and  sully  in  every 
room  and  passage-way. 

Sophie  was  solemnly  warned  and  instructed  by  all 
the  mothers  and  aunts,  —  she  was  warned  of  moths, 
warned  of  cockroaches,  warned  of  flies,  warned  of 
dust;  all  the  articles  of  furniture  had  their  covers, 


36  House  and  Home  Papers. 

made  of  cold  Holland  linen,  in  which  they  looked 
like  bodies  laid  out,  —  even  the  curtain-tassels  had 
each  its  little  shroud,  —  and  bundles  of  receipts  and 
of  rites  and  ceremonies  necessary  for  the  preservation 
and  purification  and  care  of  all  these  articles  were 
stuffed  into  the  poor  girl's  head,  before  guiltless  of 
cares  as  the  feathers  that  floated  above  it. 

Poor  Bill  found  very  soon  that  his  house  and  fur- 
niture were  to  be  kept  at  such  an  ideal  point  of  per- 
fection that  he  needed  another  house  to  live  in,  —  for, 
poor  fellow,  he  found  the  difference  between  having  a 
house  and  a  home.  It  was  only  a  year  or  two  after 
that  my  wife  and  I  started  our  menage  on  very  differ- 
ent principles,  and  Bill  would  often  drop  in  upon  us, 
wistfully  lingering  in  the  cosey  arm-chair  between  my 
writing-table  and  my  wife's  sofa,  and  saying  with  a  sigh 
how  confoundedly  pleasant  things  looked  there,  — 
so  pleasant  to  have  a  bright,  open  fire,  and  geraniums 
and  roses  and  birds,  and  £11  that  sort  of  thing,  and  to 
dare  to  stretch  out  one's  legs  and  move  without  think- 
ing what  one  was  going  to  hit.  "  Sophie  is  a  good 
girl !  "  he  would  say,  "  and  wants  to  have  everything 
right,  but  you  see  they  won't  let  her.  They  Ve  loaded 
her  with  so  many  things  that  have  to  be  kept  in  lav- 
ender, that  the  poor  girl  is  actually  getting  thin  and 
losing  her  health ;  and  then,  you  see,  there  's  Aunt 
Zeruah,  she  mounts  guard  at  our  house,  and  keeps  up 


House-Keeping  vs.  Home- Keeping.          37 

such  strict  police-regulations  that  a  fellow  can't  do  a 
thing.  The  parlors  are  splendid,  but  so  lonesome 
and  dismal !  —  not  a  ray  of  sunshine,  in  fact  not  a  ray 
of  light,  except  when  a  visitor  is  calling,  and .  then 
they  open  a  crack.  They  're  afraid  of  flies,  and  yet, 
dear  knows,  they  keep  every  looking-glass  and  pic- 
ture-frame muffled  to  its  throat  from  March  to  De- 
cember. I  'd  like  for  curiosity  to  see  what  a  fly  would 
do  in  our  parlors  ! " 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  can't  you  have  some  little  family 
sitting-room,  where  you  can  make  yourselves  cosey  ? " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Sophie  and  Aunt  Zeruah  have 
fixed  their  throne  up  in  our  bedroom,  and  there  they 
sit  all  day  long,  except  at  calling-hours,  and  then 
Sophie  dresses  herself  and  comes  down.  Aunt  Zeruah 
insists  upon  it  that  the  way  is  to  put  the  whole  house 
in  order,  and  shut  all  the  blinds,  and  sit  in  your  bed- 
room, and  then,  she  says,  nothing  gets  out  of  place ; 
and  she  tells  poor  Sophie  the  most  hocus-pocus 
stories  about  her  grandmothers  and  aunts,  who  always 
kept  everything  in  their  houses  so  that  they  could  go 
and  lay  their  hands  on  it  in  the  darkest  night.  I  '11 
bet  they  could  in  our  house.  From  end  to  end  it  is 
kept  looking  as  if  we  had  shut  it  up  and  gone  to 
Europe,  —  not  a  book,  not  a  paper,  not  a  glove,  or 
any  trace  of  a  human  being,  in  sight.  •  The  piano  shut 
tight,  the  bookcases  shut  and  locked,  the  engravings 


38  House  and  Home  Papers. 

locked  up,  all  the  drawers  and  closets  locked.  Why, 
if  I  want  to  take  a  fellow  into  the  library,  in  the  first 
place  it  smells  like  a  vault,  and  I  have  to  unbarricade 
windows,  and  unlock  and  rummage  for  half  an  hour 
before  I  can  get  at  anything ;  and  I  know  Aunt  Ze- 
ruah  is  standing  tiptoe  at  the  door,  ready  to  whip 
everything  back  and  lock  up  again.  A  fellow  can't 
be  social,  or  take  any  comfort  in  showing  his  books 
and  pictures  that  way.  Then  there  's  our  great,  light 
dining-room,  with  its  sunny  south  windows,  —  Aunt 
Zeruah  got  us  out  of  that  early  in  April,  because  she 
said  the  flies  would  speck  the  frescos  and  get  into 
the  china-closet,  and  we  have  been  eating  in  a  little 
dingy  den,  with  a  window  looking  out  on  a  back-alley, 
ever  since  ;  and  Aunt  Zeruah  says  that  now  the  dining- 
room  is  always  in  perfect  order,  and  that  it  is  such  a 
qare  off  Sophie's  mind  that  I  ought  to  be  willing  to 
eat  down-cellar  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  Now,  you 
see,  Chris,  my  position  is  a  delicate  one,  because 
Sophie's  folks  all  agree,  that,  if  there  is  anything  in 
creation  that  is  ignorant  and  dreadful  and  must  n't  be 
allowed  his  way  anywhere,  it 's  'a  man.'  Why,  you  'd 
think,  to  hear  Aunt  Zeruah  talk,  that  we  were  all  like 
bulls  in  a  china-shop,  ready  to  toss  and  tear  and  rend, 
if  we  are  not  kept  down-cellar  and  chained  ;  and  she 
worries  Sophie,  and  Sophie's  mother  comes  in  and 
worries,  and  if  I  try  to  get  anything  done  differently, 


House-Keeping  vs.  Home-Keeping.          39 

Sophie  cries,  and  says  she  don't  know  what  to  do,  and 
so  I  give  it  up.  Now,  if  I  want  to  ask  a  few  of  our 
set  in  sociably  to  dinner,  I  can't  have  them  where  we 
eat  down-cellar,  —  O,  that  would  never  do  !  Aunt 
Zeruah  and  Sophie's  mother  and  the  whole  family 
would  think  the  family  honor  was  forever  ruined  and 
undone.  We  must  n't  ask  them,  unless  we  open  the 
dining-room,  and  have  out  all  the  best  china,  and  get 
the  silver  home  from  the  bank ;  and  if  we  do  that, 
Aunt  Zeruah  does  n't  sleep  for  a  week  beforehand, 
getting  ready  for  it,  and  for  a  week  after,  getting 
things  put  away ;  and  then  she  tells  me,  that,  in  So- 
phie's delicate  state,  it  really  is  abominable  for  me  to 
increase  her  cares,  and  so  I  invite  fellows  to  dine  with 
me  at  Delmonico's,  and  then  Sophie  cries,  and  So- 
phie's mother  says  it  does  n't  look  respectable  for  a 
family-man  to  be  dining  at  public  places ;  but,  hang  it, 
a  fellow  wants  a  home  somewhere  ! " 

My  wife  soothed  the  chafed  spirit,  and  spake  com- 
fortably unto  him,  and  told  him  that  he  knew  there 
was  the  old  lounging-chair  always  ready  for  him  at 
our  fireside.  "  And  you  know,"  she  said,  "  our  things 
are  all  so  plain  that  we  are  never  tempted  to  mount 
any  guard  over  them  ;  our  carpets  are  nothing,  and 
therefore  we  let  the  sun  fade  them,  and  live  on  the 
sunshine  and  the  flowers." 

"  That 's  it,"  said  Bill,  bitterly.     "  Carpets  fading  ! 


40  House  and  Home  Papers. 

—  that 's  Aunt  Zeruah's  monomania.  These  women 
think  that  the  great  object  of  houses  is  to  keep  out 
sunshine.  What  a  fool  I  was,  when  I  gloated  over 
the  prospect  of  our  sunny  south  windows  !  Why, 
man,  there  are  three  distinct  sets  of  fortifications 
against  the  sunshine  in  those  windows  :  first,  outside 
blinds ;  then,  solid,  folding,  inside  shutters ;  and,  last- 
ly, heavy,  thick,  lined  damask  curtains,  which  loop 
quite  down  to  the  floor.  What 's  the  use  of  my  pic- 
tures, I  desire  to  know  ?  They  are  hung  in  that  room, 
and  it 's  a  regular  campaign  to  get  light  enough  to  see 
what  they  are." 

"  But,  at  all  events,  you  can  light  them  up  with  gas 
in  the  evening." 

"  In  the  evening !  Why,  do  you  know  my  wife 
never  wants  to  sit  there  in  the  evening  ?  She  says 
she  has  so  much  sewing  to  do  that  she  and  Aunt 
Zeruah  must  sit  up  in  the  bedroom,  because  it  would 
n't  do  to  bring  work  into  the  parlor.  Did  n't  you 
know  that  ?  Don't  you  know  there  must  n't  be  such 
a  thing  as  a  bit  of  real  work  ever  seen  in  a  parlor  ? 
What  if  some  threads  should  drop  on  the  carpet  ? 
Aunt  Zeruah  would  have  to  open  all  the  fortifications 
next  day,  and  search  Jerusalem  with  candles  to  find 
them.  No  ;  in  the  evening  the  gas  is  lighted  at  half- 
cock,  you  know  ;  and  if  I  turn  it  up,  and  bring  in  my 
newspapers  and  spread  about  me,  and  pull  down  some 


House-Keeping  vs.  Home-Keeping.          41 

books  to  read,  I  can  feel  the  nervousness  through  the 
chamber-floor.  Aunt  Zeruah  looks  in  at  eight,  and  at 
a  quarter  past,  and  at  half-past,  and  at  nine,  and  at 
ten,  to  see  if  I  am  done,  so  that  she  may  fold  up  the 
papers  and  put  a  book  on  them,  and  lock  up  the 
books  in  their  cases.  Nobody  ever  comes  in  to  spend 
an  evening.  They  used  to  try  it  when  we  were  first 
married,  but  I  believe  the  uninhabited  appearance  of 
our  parlors  discouraged  them.  Everybody  has  stopped 
coming  now,  and  Aunt  Zeruah  says  '  it  is  such  a  com- 
fort, for  now  the  rooms  are  always  in  order.  How 
poor  Mrs.  Crowfield  lives,  with  her  house  such  a 
thoroughfare,  she  is  sure  she  can't  see.  Sophie  never 
would  have  strength  for  it ;  but  then,  to  be  sure,  some 
folks  a'n't  as  particular  as  others.  Sophie  was  brought 
up  in  a  family  of  very  particular  housekeepers.'  " 

My  wife  smiled,  with  that  calm,  easy,  amused  smile 
that  has  brightened  up  her  sofa  for  so  many  years. 

Bill  added,  bitterly,  - 

"  Of  course,  I  could  n't  say  that  I  wished  the  whole 
set  and  system  of  housekeeping  women  at  the  — 
what-'s-his-name  ?  because  Sophie  would  have  cried 
for  a  week,  and  been  utterly  forlorn  and  disconsolate. 
I  know  it 's  not  the  poor  girl's  fault ;  I  try  sometimes 
to  reason  with  her,  but  you  can't  reason  with  the  whole 
of  your  wife's  family,  to  the  third  and  fourth  genera- 
tion backwards  ;  but  I  'm  sure  it 's  hurting  her  health, 


42  House  and  Home  Papers. 

—  wearing  her  out.  Why,  you  know  Sophie  used  to 
be  "the  life  of  our  set ;  and  now  she  really  seems 
eaten  up  with  care  from  morning  to  night,  there  are 
so  many  things  in  the  house  that  something  dreadful 
is  happening  to  all  the  while,  and  the  servants  we  get 
are  so  clumsy.  Why,  when  I  sit  with  Sophie  and 
Aunt  Zeruah,  it  's  nothing  but  a  constant  string  of 
complaints  about  the  girls  in  the  kitchen.  We  keep 
changing  our  servants  all  the  time,  and  they  break 
and  destroy  so  that  now  we  are  turned  out  of  the 
use  of  all  our  things.  We  not  only  eat  in  the  base- 
ment, but  all  our  pretty  table-things  are  put  away, 
and  we  have  all  the  cracked  plates  and  cracked 
tumblers  and  cracked  teacups  and  old  buck-handled 
knives  that  can 'be  raised  out  of  chaos.  I  could  use 
these  things  and  be  merry,  if  I  did  n't  know  we  had 
better  ones  ;  and  I  can't  help  wondering  whether  there 
is  n't  some  way  that  our  table  could  be  set  to  look 
like  a  gentleman's  table ;  but  Aunt  Zeruah  says  that 
'  it  would  cost  thousands,  and  what  difference  does  it 
make  as  long  as  nobody  sees  it  but  us  ? '  You  see, 
there  is  no  medium  in  her  mind  between  china  and 
crystal  and  cracked  earthen-ware.  Well,  I  'm  won- 
dering how  all  these  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians 
are  going  to  work  when  the  children  come  along. 
I  'm  in  hopes  the  children  will  soften  off  the  old 
folks,  and  make  the  house  more  habitable." 


House-Keeping  vs.  Home- Keeping.          43 

Well,  children  did  come,  a  good  many  of  them,  in 
time.  There  was  Tom,  a  broad-shouldered,  chubby- 
cheeked,  active,  hilarious  son  of  mischief,  born  in  the 
very  image  of  his  father  ;  and  there  was  Charlie,  and 
Jim,  and  Louisa,  and  Sophie  the  second,  and  Frank, 
—  and  a  better,  brighter,  more  joy-giving  household, 
as  far  as  temperament  and  nature  were  concerned, 
never  existed. 

But  their  whole  childhood  was  a  long  battle,  chil- 
dren versus  furniture,  and  furniture  always  carried  the 
day.  The  first  step  of  the  housekeeping  powers  was 
to  choose  the  least  agreeable  and  least  available  room 
in  the  house  for  the  children's  nursery,  and  to  fit  it  up 
with  all  the  old,  cracked,  rickety  furniture  a  neigh- 
boring auction-shop  could  afford,  and  then  to  keep 
them  in  it.  Now  everybody  knows  that  to  bring  up 
children  to  be  upright,  true,  generous,  and  religious, 
needs  so  much  discipline,  so  much  restraint  and  cor- 
rection, and  so  many  rules  and  regulations,  that  it  is 
all  that  the  parents  can  carry  out,  and  all  the  children 
can  bear.  There  is  only  a  certain  amount  of  the  vital 
force  for  parents  or  children  to  use  in  this  business  of 
education,  and  one  must  choose  what  it  shall  be  used 
for.  The  Aunt-Zeruah  faction  chose  to  use  it  for 
keeping  the  house  and  furniture,  and  the  children's 
education  proceeded  accordingly.  The  rules  of  right 
and  wrong  of  which  they  heard  most  frequently  were 


44  House  and  Home  Papers. 

all  of  this  sort :  Naughty  children  were  those  who4 
went  up  the  front-stairs,  or  sat  on  the  best  sofa,  or 
fingered  any  of  the  books  in  the  library,  or  got  out 
one  of  the  best  teacups,  or  drank  out  of  the  cut- 
glass  goblets. 

Why  did  they  ever  want  to  do  it  ?  If  there  ever 
is  a  forbidden  fruit  in  an  Eden,  will  not  our  young 
Adams  and  Eves  risk  soul  and  body  to  find  out  how 
it  tastes  ?  Little  Tom,  the  oldest  boy,  had  the  cour- 
age and  enterprise  and  perseverance  of  a  Captain 
Parry  or  Dr.  Kane,  and  he  used  them  all  in  voy- 
ages of  discovery  to  forbidden  grounds.  He  stole 
Aunt  Zeruah's  keys,  unlocked  her  cupboards  and 
closets,  saw,  handled,  and  tasted  everything  for  him- 
self, and  gloried  in  his  sins. 

"  Don't  you  know,  Tom,"  said  the  nurse  to  him 
once,  "  if  you  are  so  noisy  and  rude,  you  '11  disturb 
your  dear  mamma  ?  She  's  sick,  and  she  may  die,  if 
you  're  not  careful." 

"  Will  she  die  ? "  says  Tom,  gravely. 

"  Why,  she  may." 

11  Then,"  said  Tom,  turning  on  his  heel,  —  "  then 
I  '11  go  up  the  front-stairs." 

As  soon  as  ever  the  little  rebel  was  old  enough,  he 
was  sent  away  to  boarding-school,  and  then  there  was 
never  found  a  time  when  it  was  convenient  to  have 
him  come  home  again.  He  could  not  come  in  the 


House-Keeping  vs.  Home-Keeping.          45 

* 
spring,  for  then  they  were  house-cleaning,  nor  in  the 

autumn,  because  then  they  were  house-cleaning ;  and 
so  he  spent  his  vacations  at  school,  unless,  by  good 
luck,  a  companion  who  was  so  fortunate  as  to  have 
a  home  invited  him  there.  His  associations,  asso- 
ciates, habits,  principles,  were  as  little  known  to  his 
mother  as  if  she  had  sent  him  to  China.  Aunt  Zeruah 
used  to  congratulate  herself  on  the  rest  there  was  at 
home,  now  he  was  gone,  and  say  she  was  only  living 
in  hopes  of  the  time  when  Charlie  and  Jim  would  be 
big  enough  to  send  away  too  ;  and  meanwhile  Charlie 
and  Jim,  turned  out  of  the  charmed  circle  which  should 
hold  growing  boys  to  the  father's  and  mother's  side, 
detesting  the  dingy,  lonely  play-room,  used  to  run  the 
city  streets,  and  hang  round  the  railroad  depots  or 
docks.  Parents  may  depend  upon  it,  that,  if  they 
do  not  make  an  attractive  resort  for  their  boys,  Satan 
will.  There  are  places  enough,  kept  warm  and  light 
and  bright  and  merry,  where  boys  can  go  whose 
mothei  s'  parlors  are  too  fine  for  them  to  sit  in.  There 
are  enough  to  be  found  to  clap  them  on  the  back,  and 
tell  them  stories  that  their  mothers  must  not  hear, 
and  laugh  when  they  compass  with  their  little  piping 
voices  the  dreadful  litanies  of  sin  and  shame.  In 
middle  life,  our  poor  Sophie,  who  as  a  girl  was  so 
gay  and  frolicsome,  so  full  of  spirits,  had  dried  and 
sharpened  into  a  hard-visaged,  angular  woman,  — 


46  House  and  Home  Papers. 

£ 

careful  and  troubled  about  many  things,  and  forget- 
ful that  one  thing  is  needful.  One  of  the  boys  had 
run  away  to  sea ;  1  believe  he  has  never  been  heard 
of.  As  to  Tom,  the  oldest,  he  ran  a  career  wild  and 
hard  enough  for  a  time,  first  at  school  and  then  in 
college,  and  there  came  a  time  when  he  came  home, 
in  the  full  might  of  six  feet"  two,  and  almost  broke  his 
mother's  heart  with  his  assertions  of  his  home  rights 
and  privileges.  Mothers  who  throw  away  the  key  of 
their  children's  hearts  and  childhood  sometimes  have 
a  sad  retribution.  As  the  children  never  were  con- 
sidered when  they  were  little  and  helpless,  so  they 
do  not  consider  when  they  are  strong  and  powerful. 
Tom  spread  wide  desolation  among  the  household 
gods,  lounging  on  the  sofas,  spitting  tobacco-juice  on 
the  carpets,  scattering  books  and  engravings  hither 
and  thither,  and  throwing  all  the  family  traditions 
into  wild  disorder,  as  he  would  never  have  done,  had 
not  all  his  childish  remembrances  of  them  been  em- 
bittered by  the  association  of  restraint  and  privation. 
He  actually  seemed  to  hate  any  appearance  of  luxury 
or  taste  or  order,  —  he  was  a  perfect  Philistine. 

As  for  my  friend  Bill,  from  being  the  pleasantest 
and  most  genial  of  fellows,  he  became  a  morose, 
misanthropic  man.  Dr.  Franklin  has  a  significant 
proverb,  — "  Silks  and  satins  put  out  the  kitchen- 
fire."  Silks  and  satins  —  meaning  by  them  the  lux- 


House-Keeping  vs.  Home-keeping.          47 

uries  of  housekeeping  —  often  put  out  not  only  the 
parlor-fire,  but  that  more  sacred  flame,  the  fire  of 
domestic  love.  It  is  the  greatest  possible  misery 
to  a  man  and  to  his  children  to  be  homeless ;  and 
many  a  man  has  a  splendid  house,  but  no  home. 

"  Papa,"  said  jenny,  "  you  ought  to  write  and  tell 
what  are  your  ideas  of  keeping  a  home" 

"  Girls,  you  have  only  to  think  how  your  mother 
has  brought  you  up." 

Nevertheless,  I  think,  being  so  fortunate  a  hus- 
band, I  might  reduce  my  wife's  system  to  an  anal- 
ysis, and  my  next  paper  shall  be,  — 

What  is  a  Home,  and  how  to  keep  it. 


III. 

WHAT    IS    A    HOME? 

IT  is  among  the  sibylline  secrets  which  lie  mys- 
teriously between  you  and  me,  O  reader,  that 
these  papers,  besides  their  public  aspect,  have  a 
private  one  proper  to  the  bosom  of  mine  own  par- 
ticular family. 

They  are  not  merely  an  ex  post  facto  protest  in 
regard  to  that  carpet  and  parlor  of  celebrated  mem- 
ory, but  they  are  forth-looking  towards  other  homes 
that  may  yet  arise  near  us. 

For,  among  my  other  confidences,  you  may  recol- 
lect I  stated  to  you  that  our  Marianne  was  busy  in 
those  interesting  cares  and  details  which  relate  to 
the  -preparing  and  ordering  of  another  dwelling. 

Now,  when  any  such  matter  is  going  on  in  a  family, 
I  have  observed  that  every  feminine  instinct  is  in  a 
state  of  fluttering  vitality,  —  every  woman,  old  or 
young,  is  alive  with  womanliness  to  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  ;  and  it  becomes  us  of  the  other  sex,  how- 
ever consciously  respected,  to  walk  softly  and  put 
forth  our  sentiments  discreetly  and  with  due  rever- 


What  is  a  Home  ?  49 

enee   for  the   mysterious   powers   that  reign   in   the 
feminine  breast. 

I  had  been  too  well  advised  to  offer  one  word  of 
direct  counsel  on  a  subject  where  there  were  such 
charming  voices,  so  able  to  convict  me  of  absurdity 
at  every  turn.  I  had  merely  so  arranged  my  affairs 
as  to  put  into  the  hands  of  my  bankers,  subject  to 
my  wife's  order,  the  very  modest  marriage-portion 
which  I  could  place  at  my  girl's  disposal ;  and  Mari- 
anne and  Jenny,  unused  to  the  handling  of  money, 
were  incessant  in  their  discussions  with  ever-patient 
mamma  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  with  it.  I  say 
Marianne  and  Jenny,  for,  though  the  case  undoubt- 
edly is  Marianne's,  yet,  like  everything  else  in  our 
domestic  proceedings,  it  seems  to  fall,  somehow  or 
other,  into  Jenny's  hands,  through  the  intensity  and 
liveliness  of  her  domesticity  of  nature.  Little  Jenny 
is  so  bright  and  wide-awake,  and  with  so  many  ac- 
tive plans  and  fancies  touching  anything  in  the  house- 
keeping world,  that,  though  the  youngest  sister,  and 
second  party  in  this  affair,  a  stranger,  hearkening  to 
the  daily  discussions,  might  listen  a  half-hour  at  a 
time  without  finding  out  that  it  was  not  Jenny's  fu- 
ture establishment  that  was  in  question.  Marianne 
is  a  soft,  thoughtful,  quiet  girl,  not  given  to  many 
words  ;  and  though,  when  you  come  fairly  at  it,  you 
will  find,  that,  like  most  quiet  girls,  she  has  a  will 
3  D 


50  House  and  Home  Papers. 

five  times  as  inflexible  as  one  who  talks  more,  yet 
in  all  family  counsels  it  is  Jenny  and  mamma  that 
do  the  discussion,  and  her  own  little  well-considered 
"  Yes,"  or  "  No,"  that  finally  settles  each  case. 

I  must  add  to  this  family  tableau  the  portrait  of 
the  excellent  Bob  Stephens,  who  figured  as  future 
proprietor  and  householder  in  these  consultations. 
So  far  as  the  question  of  financial  possibilities  is 
concerned,  it  is  important  to  remark  that  Bob  be- 
longs to  the  class  of  young  Edmunds  celebrated 
by  the  poet : — 

"  Wisdom  and  worth  were  all  he  had." 

t 

He  is,  in  fact,  an  excellent-hearted  and  clever  fel- 
low, with  a  world  of  agreeable  talents,  a  good  tenor 
in  a  parlor-duet,  a  good  actor  at  a  charade,  a  lively, 
off-hand  conversationist,  well  up  in  all  the  current 
literature  of  the  day,  and  what  is  more,  in  my  eyes, 
a  well-read  lawyer,  just  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  with 
as  fair  business  prospects  as  usually  fall  to  the  lot  of 
young  aspirants  in  that  profession. 

Of  course,  he  and  my  girl  are  duly  and  truly  in 
love,  in  all  the  proper  moods  and  tenses  ;  but  as  to 
this  work  they  have  in  hand  of  being  householders, 
managing  fuel,  rent,  provision,  taxes,  gas-  and  water- 
rates,  they  seem  to  my  older  eyes  about  as  sagacious 
as  a  pair  of  this  year's  robins,  .Nevertheless,  as  the 


What  is  a  Home?  51 

robins  of  each  year  do  somehow  learn  to  build  nests 
as  well  as  their  ancestors,  there  is  reason  to  hope  as 
much  for  each  new  pair  of  human  creatures.  But  it  is 
one  of  the  fatalities  of  our  ill-jointed  life  that  houses 
are  usually  furnished  for  future  homes  by  young  peo- 
ple in  just  this  state  of  blissful  ignorance  of  what 
they  are  really  wanted  for,  or  what  is  likely  to  be 
done  with  the  things  in  them. 

Now,  to  people  of  large  incomes,  with  ready 
wealth  for  the  rectification  of  mistakes,  it  does  n't 
much  matter  how  the  menage  is  arranged  at  first ; 
they  will,  if  they  have  good  sense,  soon  rid  them- 
selves of  the  little  infelicities  and  absurdities  of 
their  first  arrangements,  and  bring  their  establish- 
ment to  meet  their  more  instructed  tastes. 

But  to  that  greater  class  who  have  only  a  modest 
investment  for  this  first  start  in  domestic  life  mis- 
takes are  far  more  serious.  I  have  known  people 
go  on  for  years  groaning  under  the  weight  of  do- 
mestic possessions  they  did  not  want,  and  pining  in 
vain  for  others  which  they  did,  simply  from  the  fact 
that  all  their  first  purchases  were  made  in  this  time 
of  blissful  ignorance. 

I  had  been  a  quiet  auditor  to  many  animated  dis- 
cussions among  the  young  people  as  to  what  they 
wanted,  and  were  to  get,  in  which  the  subject  of 
prudence  and  economy  was  discussed,  with  quota- 


5  2  House  and  Home  Papers. 

tions  of  advice  thereon  given  in  serious  good-faith 
by  various  friends  and  relations  who  lived  easily  on 
incomes  four  or  five  times  larger  than  our  own.  Who 
can  show  the  ways  of  elegant  economy  more  per- 
fectly than  people  thus  at  ease  in  their  possessions? 
From  what  serene  heights  do  they  instruct  the  inex- 
perienced beginners  !  Ten  thousand  a  year  gives 
one  leisure  for  reflection,  and  elegant  leisure  ena- 
bles one  to  view  household  economies  dispassion- 
ately ;  hence  the  unction  with  which  these  gifted 
daughters  of  upper-air  delight  to  exhort  young  neo- 
phytes. 

"  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear,"  Aunt  Sophia  Easygo 
had  said,  "  it 's  always  the  best  economy  to  get  the 
best  things.  They  cost  more  in  the  beginning,  but 
see  how  they  last !  These  velvet  carpets  on  my 
floor  have  been  in  constant  wear  for  ten  years,  and 
look  how  they  wear !  I  •  never  have  an  ingrain  car- 
pet in  my  house,  —  not  even  on  the  chambers.  Vel- 
vet and  Brussels  cost  more  to  begin  with,  but  then 
they  last.  Then  I  cannot  recommend  the  fashion 
that  is  creeping  in,  of  having  plate  instead  of  solid 
silver.  Plate  wears  off,  and  has  to  be  renewed, 
which  comes  to  about  the  same  thing  in  the  end 
as  if  you  bought  all  solid  at  first.  If  I  were  begin- 
ning as  Marianne  is,  I  should  just  set  aside  a  thou- 
sand dollars  for  my  silver,  and  be  content  with  a 


WJtat  is  a  Home?  53 

fewv  plain  articles.  She  should  buy  all  her  furniture 
at  Messrs.  David  and  Saul's.  People  call  them  dear, 
but  their  work  will  prove  cheapest  in  the  end,  and 
there  is  an  air  and  style  about  their  things  that  can 
be  told  anywhere.  Of  course,  you  won't  go  to  any 
extravagant  lengths, —  simplicity  is  a  grace  of  itself." 

The  waters  of  the  family  council  were  troubled, 
when  Jenny,  flaming  with  enthusiasm,  brought  home 
the  report  of  this  conversation.  When  my  wife  pro- 
ceeded, with  her  well-trained  business  knowledge,  to 
compare  the  prices  of  the  simplest  elegancies  recom- 
mended by  Aunt  Easygo  with  the  sum-total  to  be 
drawn  on,  faces  lengthened  perceptibly. 

"  How  are  people  to  go  to  housekeeping,"  said 
Jenny,  "  if  everything  costs  so  much  ? " 

My  wife  quietly  remarked,  that  we  had  had  great 
comfort  in  our  own  home,  — '•  had  entertained  unnum- 
bered friends,  and  had  only  ingrain  carpets  on  our 
chambers  and  a  three-ply  on  our  parlor,  and  she 
doubted  if  any  guest  had  ever  thought  of  it,  —  if 
the  rooms  had  been  a  shade  less  pleasant ;  and  as 
to  durability,  Aunt  Easygo  had  renewed  her  car- 
pets oftener  than  we.  Such  as  ours  were,  they  had 
worn  longer  than  hers, 

"  But,  mamma,  you  know  everything  has  gone  on 
since  your  day.  Everybody  must  at  least  approach 
a  certain  style  now-a-day,s.  One  can't  furnish  so  far 
behind  other  people." 


54  House  and  Home  Papers. 

My  wife  answered  in  her  quiet  way,  setting  forth 
her  doctrine  of  a  plain  average  to  go  through  the 
whole  establishment,  placing  parlors,  chambers,  kitch- 
en, pantries,  and  the  unseen  depths  of  linen-closets  in 
harmonious  relations  of  just  proportion,  and  showed 
by  calm  estimates  how  far  the  sum  given  could  go 
towards  this  result.  There  the  limits  were  inexorable. 
There  is  nothing  so  damping  to  the  ardor  of  youthful 
economies  as  the  hard,  positive  logic  of  figures.  It  is 
so  delightful  to  think  in  some  airy  way  that  the  things 
we  like  best  are  the  cheapest,  and  that  a  sort  of  rigor- 
ous duty  compels  us  to  get  them  at  any  sacrifice. 
There  is  no  remedy  for  this  illusion  but  to  show  by 
the  multiplication  and  addition  tables  what  things  are 
and  are  not  possible.  My  wife's  figures  met  Aunt 
Easygo's  assertions,  and  there  was  a  lull  among  the 
high  contracting  parties  for  a  season ;  nevertheless,  I 
could  see  Jenny  was  secretly  uneasy.  I  began  to  hear 
of  journeys  made  to  far  places,  here  and  there,  where 
expensive  articles  of  luxury  were  selling  at  reduced 
prices.  Now  a  gilded  mirror  was  discussed,  and 
now  a  velvet  carpet  which  chance  had  brought  down 
temptingly  near  the  sphere  of  financial  possibility.  I 
thought  of  our  parlor,  and  prayed  the  good  fairies  to 
avert  the  advent  of  ill-assorted  articles. 

"  Pray  keep  common  sense  uppermost  in  the  girls' 
heads,  if  you  can,"  said  I  to  Mrs.  Crowfield,  "and 


What  is  a  Home?  55 

don't  let  the  poor  little  puss  spend  her  money  for 
what  she  won't  care  a  button  about  by  and  by." 

"  I  shall  try,"  she  said  ;  "  but  you  know  Marianne 
is  inexperienced,  and  Jenny  is  so  ardent  and  active, 
and  so  confident,  too.  Then  they  both,  I  think,  have 
the  impression  that  we  are  a  little  behind  the  age. 
To  say  the  truth,  my  dear,  I  think  your  papers  afford 
a  good  opportunity  of  dropping  a  thought  now  and 
then  in  their  minds.  Jenny  was  asking  last  night 
when  you  were  going  to  write  your  next  paper.  The 
girl  has  a  bright,  active  mind,  and  thinks  of  what  she 
hears." 

So  flattered,  by  the  best  of  flatterers,  I  sat  down 
to  write  on  my  theme  ;  and  that  evening,  at  fire-light 
time,  I  read  to  my  little  senate  as  follows  :  — 

WHAT  is  A  HOME,  AND  HOW  TO  KEEP  IT. 

I  HAVE  shown  that  a  dwelling,  rented  or  owned  by 
a  man,  in  which  his  own  wife  keeps  house,  is  not 
always,  or  of  course,  a  home.  What  is  it,  then,  that 
makes  a  home  ?  All  men  and  women  have  the  in- 
definite knowledge  of  what  they  want  and  long  for 
when  that  word  is  spoken.  "  Home  !  "  sighs  the  dis- 
consolate bachelor,  tired  of  boarding-house  fare  and 
buttonless  shirts.  "  Home  !  "  says  the  wanderer  in 
foreign  lands,  and  thinks  of  mother's  love,  of  wife 


56  House  and  Home  Papers. 

and  sister  and  child.  Nay,  the  word  has  in  it  a  higher 
meaning,  hallowed  by  religion ;  and  when  the  Chris- 
tian would  express  the  highest  of  his  hopes  for  a 
better  life,  he  speaks  of  his  home  beyond  the  grave. 
The  word  home  has  in  it  the  elements  of  love,  rest, 
permanency,  and  liberty ;  but  besides  these  it  has  in 
it  the  idea  of  an  education  by  which  all  that  is  purest 
within  us  is  developed  into  nobler  forms,  fit  for  a 
higher  life.  The  little  child  by  the  home-fireside  was 
taken  on  the  Master's  knee  when  he  would  explain  to 
his  disciples  the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom. 

Of  so  great  dignity  and  worth  is  this  holy  and 
sacred  thing,  that  the  power  to  create  a  HOME  ought 
to  be  ranked  above  all  creative  faculties.  The  sculp- 
tor who  brings  out  the  breathing  statue  from  cold 
marble,  the  painter  who  warms  the  canvas  into  a 
deathless  glow  of  beauty,  the  architect  who  built  ca- 
thedrals and  hung  the  world-like  dome  of  St.  Peter's 
in  mid-air,  is  not  to  be  compared,  in  sanctity  and 
worthiness,  to  the  humblest  artist,  who,  out  of  the 
poor  materials  afforded  by  this  shifting,  changing, 
selfish  world,  creates  the  secure  Eden  of  a  home. 

A  true  home  should  be  called  the  noblest  work  of 
art  possible  to  human  creatures,  inasmuch  as  it  is  the 
very  image  chosen  to  represent  the  last  and  highest 
rest  of  the  soul,  the  consummation  of  man's  blessed- 
ness. 


•  What  is  a  Home?  57 

Not  without  reason  does  the  oldest  Christian  church 
require  of  those  entering  on  marriage  the  most  sol- 
emn review  of  all  the  past  life,  the  confession  and 
repentance  of  every  sin  of  thought,  word,  and  deed, 
and  the  reception  of  the  holy  sacrament ;  for  thus  the 
'man  and  woman  who  approach  the  august  duty  of 
creating  a  home  are  reminded  of  the  sanctity  and 
beauty  of  what  they  undertake. 

In  this  art  of  home-making  I  have  set  down  in  my 
mind  certain  first  principles,  like  the  axioms  of  Euclid, 
and  the  first  is,  — 

No  home  is  possible  without  love. 

All  business  marriages  and  marriages  of  conven- 
ience, all  mere  culinary  marriages  and  marriages  of 
mere  animal  passion,  make  the  creation  of  a  true 
home  impossible  in'  the  outset.  Love  is  the  jewelled 
foundation  of  this  New  Jerusalem  descending  from 
God  out  of  heaven,  and  takes  as  many  bright  forms 
as  the  amethyst,  topaz,  and  sapphire  of  that  myste- 
rious vision.  In  this  range  of  creative  art  all  things 
are  possible  to  him  .that  loveth,  but  without  love 
nothing  is  possible. 

We  hear  of  most  convenient  marriages  in  foreign 
lands,  which  may  better  be  described  as  commercial 
partnerships.  The  money  on  each  side  is  counted  ; 
there  is  enough  between  the  parties  to  carry  on  the 
firm,  each  having  the  appropriate  sum  allotted  to 
3* 


58  House  and  Home  Papers. 

each.  No  love  is  pretended,  but  there  is  great  po- 
liteness. All  is  so  legally  and  thoroughly  arranged, 
that  there  seems  to  be  nothing  left  for  future  quarrels 
to  fasten  on.  Monsieur  and  Madame  have  each  their 
apartments,  their  carriages,  their  servants,  their  in- 
come, their  friends,  their  pursuits,  —  understand  the 
solemn  vows  of  marriage  to  mean  simply  that  they 
are  to  treat  each  other  with  urbanity  in  those  few 
situations  where  the  path  of  life  must  necessarily  bring 
them  together. 

We  are  sorry  that  such  an  idea  of  marriage  should 
be  gaining  foothold  in  America.  It  has  its  root  in  an 
ignoble  view  of  life,  —  an  utter  and  pagan  darkness 
as  to  all  that  man  and  woman  are  called  to  do  in  that 
highest  relation  where  they  act  as  one.  It  is  a  mean 
and  low  contrivance  on  both  sides,  by  which  all  the 
grand  work  of  home-building,  all  the  noble  pains  and 
heroic  toils  of  home-education, — that  education  where 
the  parents  learn  more  than  they  teach, — shall  be  (let 
us  use  the  expressive  Yankee  idiom)  shirked. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  in  those  countries  where 
this  system  of  marriages  is  the  general  rule  there  is 
no  word  corresponding  to  our  English  word  home.  In 
many  polite  languages  of  Europe  it  would  be  impos- 
sible neatly  to  translate  the  sentiment  with  which  we 
began  this  essay,  that  a  man's  house  is  not  always  his 
home. 


What  is  a  Home?  59 

Let  any  one  try  to  render  the  song,  "  Sweet  Home," 
into  French,  and  one  finds  how  Anglo-Saxon  is  the 
very  genius  of  the  word.  The  structure  of  life,  in  all 
its  relations,  in  countries  where  marriages  are  matter 
of  arrangement,  and  not  of  love,  excludes  the  idea  of 
home. 

How  does  life  run  in  such  countries  ?  The  girl  is 
recalled  from  her  convent  or  boarding-school,  and  told 
that  her  father  has  found  a  husband  for  her.  No  ob- 
jection on  her  part  is  contemplated  or  provided  for ; 
none  generally  occurs,  for  the  child  is  only  too  happy 
to  obtain  the  fine  clothes  and  the  liberty  which  she 
has  been  taught  come  only  with  marriage.  Be  the 
man  handsome  or  homely,  interesting  or  stupid,  still 
he  brings  these. 

How  intolerable  such  a  marriage  !  we  say,  with  the 
close  intimacies  of  Anglo-Saxon  life  in  our  minds. 
They  are  not  intolerable,  because  they  are  provided 
for  by  arrangements  which  make  it  possible  for  each 
to  go  his  or  her  several  way,  seeing  very  little  of  the 
other.  The  son  or  daughter,  which  in  due  time  makes 
its  appearance  in  this  menage,  is  sent  out  to  nurse 
in  infancy,  sent  to  boarding-school  in  youth,  and  in 
maturity  portioned  and  married,  to  repeat  the  same 
process  for  another  generation.  Meanwhile,  father 
and  mother  keep  a  quiet  establishment,  and  pursue 
their  several  pleasures.  Such  is  the  system. 


60  House  and  Home  Papers. 

Houses  built  for  this  kind  of  life  become  mere  sets 
of  reception-rooms,  such  as  are  the  greater  proportion 
of  apartments  to  let  in  Paris,  where  a  hearty  English 
or  American  family,  with  their  children  about  them, 
could  scarcely  find  room  to  establish  themselves. 
Individual  character,  it  is  true,  does  something  to 
modify  this  programme.  There  are  charming  homes 
in  France  and  Italy,  where  warm  and  noble  natures, 
thrown  together,  perhaps,  by  accident,  or  mated  by 
wise  paternal  choice,  infuse  warmth  into  the  coldness 
of  the  system  under  which  they  live.  There  are  in 
all  states  of  society  some  of  such  domesticity  of 
nature  that  they  will  create  a  home  around  them- 
selves under  any  circumstances,  however  barren.  Be- 
sides, so  kindly  is  human  nature,  that  Love  uninvited 
before  marriage,  often  becomes  a  guest  after,  and  with 
Love  always  comes  a  home. 

My  next  axiom  is,  — 

There  can  be  no  true  home  without  liberty. 

The  very  idea  of  home  is  of  a  retreat  where  we 
shall  be  free  to  act  out  personal  and  individual  tastes 
and  peculiarities,  as  we  cannot  do  before  the  wide 
world.  We  are  to  have  our  meals  at  what  hour  we 
will,  served  in  what  style  suits  us.  Our  hours  of 
going  and  coming  are  to  be  as  we  please.  Our  favor- 
ite haunts  are  to  be  here  or  there,  our  pictures  and 
books  so  disposed  as  seems  to  us  good,  and  our 


What  is  a  Home?  61 

whole  arrangements  the  expression,  so  far  as  our 
means  can  compass  it,  of  our  own  personal  ideas  of 
what  is  pleasant  and  desirable  in  life.  This  element 
of  liberty,  if  we  think  of  it,  is  the  chief  charm  of 
home.  "  Here  I  can  do  as  I  please,"  is  the  thought 
with  which  the  tempest-tossed  earth-pilgrim  blesses 
himself  or  herself,  turning  inward  from  the  crowded 
ways  of  the  world.  This  thought  blesses  the  man  of 
business,  as  he  turns  from  his  day's  carCj  and  crosses 
the  sacred  threshold.  It  is  as  restful  to  him  as  the 
slippers  and  gown  and  easy-chair  by  the  fireside. 
Everybody  understands  him  here.  Everybody  is  well 
content  that  he  should  take  his  ease  in  his  own  way. 
Such  is  the  case  in  the  ideal  home.  That  such  is  not 
always  the  case  in  the  real  home  comes  often  from 
the  mistakes  in  the  house-furnishing.  Much  house- 
furnishing  is  too  fine  for  liberty. 

In  America  there  is  no  such  thing  as  rank  and 
station  which  impose  a  sort  of  prescriptive  style  on 
-people  of  certain  income.  The  consequence  is  that 
all  sorts  of  furniture  and  belongings,  which  in  the  Old 
World  have  a  recognized  relation  to  certain  possibili- 
ties of  income,  and  which  require  certain  other  acces- 
sories to  make  them  in  good  keeping,  are  thrown  in 
the  way  of  all  sorts  of  people. 

Young  people  who  cannot  expect  by  any  reasonable 
possibility  to  keep  more  than  two  or  three  servants,  if 


62  House  and  Home  Papers. 

they  happen  to  have  the  means  in  the  outset,  furnish 
a  house  with  just  such  articles  as  in  England  would 
suit  an  establishment  of  sixteen.  We  have  seen 
houses  in  England  having  two  or  three  house-maids, 
and  tables  served  by  a  butler  and  two  waiters,  where 
the  furniture,  carpets,  china,  crystal,  and  silver  were 
in  one  and  the  same  style  with  some  establishments 
in  America  where  the  family  was  hard  pressed  to  keep 
three  Irish  servants. 

This  want  of  servants  is  the  one  thing  that  must 
modify  everything  in  American  life ;  it  is,  and  will  long 
continue  to  be,  a  leading  feature  in  the  life  of  a  coun- 
try so  rich  in  openings  for  man  and  woman  that  do- 
mestic service  can  be  only  the  stepping-stone  to  some- 
thing higher.  Nevertheless,  we  Americans  are  great 
travellers ;  we  are  sensitive,  appreciative,  fond  of 
novelty,  apt  to  receive  and  incorporate  into  our  own 
life  what  seems  fair  and  graceful  in  that  of  other  peo- 
ple. Our  women's  wardrobes  are  made  elaborate  with 
the  thousand  elegancies  of  French  toilet, — our  houses  - 
filled  with  a  thousand  knick-knacks  of  which  our  plain 
ancestors  never  dreamed.  Cleopatra  did  not  set  sail 
on  the  Nile  in  more  state  and  beauty  than  that  in 
which  our  young  American  bride  is  often  ushered  into 
her  new  homer:  Her  wardrobe  all  gossamer  lace  and 
quaint  frill  and  crimp  and  embroidery,  her  house  a 
museum  of  elegant  and  costly  gewgaws;  and  amid 


What  is  a  Home?  63 

the  whole  collection  of  elegancies  and  fragilities,-  she, 
perhaps,  the  frailest. 

Then  comes  the  tug  of  war.  The  young  wife  be- 
comes a  mother,  and  while  she  is  retired  to  her  cham- 
ber, blundering  Biddy  rusts  the  elegant  knives,  or 
takes  off  the  ivory  handles  by  soaking  in  hot  water, 
— the  silver  is  washed  in  greasy  soap-suds,  and  re- 
freshed now  and  then  with  a  thump,  which  cocks  the 
nose  of  the  teapot  awry,  or  makes  the  handle  assume 
an  air  of  drunken  defiance.  The  fragile  China  is 
chipped  here  and  there  around  its  edges  with  those 
minute  gaps  so  vexatious  to  a  woman's  soul ;  the 
handles  fly  hither  and  thither  in  the  wild  confusion 
of  Biddy's  washing-day  hurry,  when  cook  wants  her 
to  help  hang  out  the  clothes.  Meanwhile,  Bridget 
sweeps  the  parlor  with  a  hard  broom,  and  shakes  out 
showers  of  ashes  from  the  grate,  forgetting  to  cover 
the  damask  lounges,  and  they  directly  look  as  rusty 
and  time-worn  as  if  they  had  come  from  an  auction- 
store  ;  and  all  together  unite  in  making  such  havoc 
of  the  delicate  ruffles  and  laces  of  the  bridal  outfit 
and  "baby-layette,  that,  when  the  poor  young  wife  comes 
out  of  her  chamber  after  her  nurse  has  left  her,  and, 
weakened  and  embarrassed  with  the  demands  of 
the  new-comer,  begins  to  look  once  more  into  the 
affairs  of  her  little  world,  she  is  ready  to  sink  with 
vexation  and  discouragement.  Poor  little  princess  ! 


64  House  and  Home  Papers. 

Her  clothes  are  made  as  princesses  wear  them,  her 
baby's  clothes  like  a  young  duke's,  her  house  fur- 
nished like  a  lord's,  and  only  Bridget  and  Biddy  and 
Polly  to  do  the  work  of  cook,  scullery-maid,  butler, 
footman,'  laundress,  nursery-maid,  house-maid,  and 
lady's  maid.  Such  is  the  array  that  in  the  Old  Coun- 
try would  be  deemed  necessary  to  take  care  of  an 
establishment  got  up  like  hers.  Everything  in  it  is 
too  fine,  —  not  too  fine  to  be  pretty,  not  in  bad  taste 
in  itself,  but  too  fine  for  the  situation,  too  fine  for 
comfort  or  liberty. 

What  ensues  in  a  house  so  furnished  ?  Too  often 
ceaseless  fretting  of  the  nerves,  in  the  wife's  despair- 
ing, conscientious  efforts  to  keep  things  as  they 
should  be.  There  is  no  freedom  in  a  house  where 
things  are  too  expensive  and  choice  to  be  freely 
handled  and  easily  replaced.  Life  becomes  a  series 
of  petty  embarrassments  and  restrictions,  something 
is  always  going  wrong,  and  the  man  finds  his  fireside 
oppressive,  —  the  various  articles  of  his  parlor  and 
table  seem  like  so  many  temper-traps  and  spring- 
guns,  menacing  explosion  and  disaster. 

There  may  be,  indeed,  the  most  perfect  home-feel- 
ing, the  utmost  coseyness  and  restfulness,  in  apart- 
ments crusted  with  gilding,  carpeted  with  velvet,  and 
upholstered  with  satin.  I  have  seen  such,  where  the 
home-like  look  and  air  of  free  use  was  as  genuine  as 


What  is  a  Home?  65 

in  a  Western  log-cabin  ;  but  this  was  in  a  range  of 
princely  income  that  made  all  these  things  as  easy  to 
be  obtained  or  replaced  as  the  most  ordinary  of  our 
domestic  furniture.  But  so  long  as  articles  must  be 
shrouded  from  use,  or  used  with  fear  and  trembling, 
because  their  cost  is  above  the  general  level  of  our 
means,  we  had  better  be  without  them,  even  though 
the  most  lucky  of  accidents  may  put  their  possession 
in  our  power. 

But  it  is  not  merely  by  the  effort  to  maintain  too 
much  elegance  that  the  sense  of  home-liberty  is  ban- 
ished from  a  house.  It  is  sometimes  expelled  in 
another  way,  with  all  painstaking  and  conscientious 
strictness,  by  the  worthiest  and  best  of  human  beings, 

the  blessed  followers  of  Saint  Martha.     Have  we  not 

f 

known  them,  the  dear,  worthy  creatures,  up  before 
daylight,  causing  most  scrupulous  lustrations  of  every 
pane  of  glass  and  inch  of  paint  in  our  parlors,  in 
consequence  whereof  every  shutter  and  blind  must 
be  kept  closed  for  days  to  come,  lest  the  flies  should 
speck  the  freshly  washed  windows  and  wainscoting? 
Dear  shade  of  Aunt  Mehitabel,  forgive  our  boldness  ? 
Have  we  not  been  driven  for  days,  in  our  youth,  to 
read  our  newspaper  in  the  front  veranda,  in  the 
kitchen,  out  in  the  barn,  —  anywhere,  in  fact,  where 
sunshine  could  be  found,  because  there  was  not  a 
room  in  the  house  that  was  not  cleaned,  shut  up, 

E 


66  House  and  Home  Papers. 

and  darkened?  Have  we  not  shivered  with  cold, 
all  the  glowering,  gloomy  month  of  May,  because 
the  august  front-parlor  having  undergone  the  spring 
cleaning,  the  andirons  were  snugly  tied  up  in  the 
tissue-paper,  and  an  elegant  frill  of  the  same  mate- 
rial was  trembling  before  the  mouth  of  the  once 
glowing  fireplace  ?  Even  so,  dear  soul,  full  of  lov- 
ing-kindness and  hospitality  as  thou  wast,  yet  ever 
making  our  house  seem  like  a  tomb  !  And  with 
what  patience  wouldst  thou  sit  sewing  by  a  crack 
in  the  shutters,  an  inch  wide,  rejoicing  in  thy  im- 
maculate paint  and  clear  glass  !  But  was  there  ever 
a  thing  of  thy  spotless  and  unsullied  belongings 
which  a  boy  might  use  ?  How  I  trembled  to  touch 
thy  scoured  tins,  that  hung  in  appalling  brightness  ! 
with  what  awe  I  asked  for  a  basket  to  pick  straw- 
berries !  and  where  in  the  house  could  I  find  a  place 
to  eat  a  piece  of  gingerbread  ?  How  like  a  ruffian, 
a  Tartar,  a  pirate,  I  always  felt,  when  I  entered  thy 
domains  !  and  how,  from  day  to  day,  I  wondered  at 
the  immeasurable  depths  of  depravity  which  were 
always  leading  me  to  upset  something,  or  break  or 
tear  or  derange  something,  in  thy  exquisitely  kept 
premises !  Somehow,  the  impression  was  burned 
with  overpowering  force  into  my  mind,  that  houses 
and  furniture,  scrubbed  floors,  white  curtains,  bright 
tins  and  brasses  were  the  great,  awful,  permanent 


What  is  a  Home?  67 

facts  of  existence,  —  and  that  men  and  women,  and 
particularly  children,  were  the  meddlesome  intruders 
upon  this  divine  order,  every  trace  of  whose  inter- 
meddling must  be  scrubbed  out  and  obliterated  in 
the  quickest  way  possible.  It  seemed  evident  to 
me  that  houses  would  be  far  more  perfect,  if  no- 
body lived  in  them  at  all ;  but  that,  as  men  had 
really  and  absurdly  taken  to  living  in  them,  they 
must  live  as  little  as  possible.  My  only  idea  of  a 
house  was  a  place  full  of  traps  and  pitfalls  for  boys, 
a  deadly  temptation  to  sins  which  beset  one  every 
moment ;  and  when  I  read  about  a  sailor's  free  life 
on  the  ocean,  I  felt  an  untold  longing  to  go  forth 
and  be  free  in  like  manner. 

But  a  truce  to  these  fancies,  and  back  again  to  our 
essay. 

If  liberty  in  a  house  is  a  comfort  to  a  husband,  it 
is  a  necessity  to  children.  When  we  say  liberty,  we 
do  not  mean  license.  We  do  not  mean  that  Master 
Johnny  be  allowed  to  handle  elegant  volumes  with 
bread:and-butter  fingers,  or  that  little  Miss  be  suf- 
fered to  drum  on  the  piano,  or  practise  line-drawing 
with  a  pin  on  varnished  furniture.  Still  it  is  essen- 
tial that  the  family-parlors  be  not  too  fine  for  the 
family  to  sit  in,  —  too  fine  for  the  ordinary  accidents, 
,  haps  and  mishaps,  of  reasonably  well-trained  children. 
The  elegance  of  the  parlor  where  papa  and  mamma 


68  House  and  Home  Papers. 

sit  and  receive  their  friends  should  wear  an  inviting, 
not  a  hostile  and  bristling,  aspect  to  little  people. 
Its  beauty  and  its  order  gradually  form  in  the  little 
mind  a  love  of  beauty  and  order,  and  the  insensible 
carefulness  of  regard. 

Nothing  is  worse  for  a  child  than  to  shut  him  up 
in  a  room  which  he  understands  is  his,  because  he  is 
disorderly, — where  he  is  expected,  of  course,  to  main- 
tain and  keep  disorder.  We  have  sometimes  pitied 
the  poor  little  victims  who  show  their  faces  longingly 
at  the  doors  of  elegant  parlors,  and  are  forthwith  col- 
lared by  the  domestic  police  and  consigned  to  some 
attic-apartment,  called  a  play-room,  where  chaos  con- 
tinually reigns.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose,  because 
children  derange  a  well-furnished  apartment,  that  they 
like  confusion.  Order  and  beauty  are  always  pleasant 
to  them  as  to  grown  people,  and  disorder  and  deface- 
ment are  painful ;  but  they  know  neither  how  to  cre- 
ate the  one  nor  to  prevent  the  other,  —  their  little 
lives  are  a  series  of  experiments,  often  making  dis- 
order by  aiming  at  some  new  form  of  order.  Yet, 
for  all  this,  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  feel  that 
in  a  family  everything  should  bend  to  the  sway  of 
these  little  people.  They  are  the  worst  of  tyrants 
in  such  houses,  —  still,  where  children  are,  though 
the  fact  must  not  appear  to  them,  nothing  must  be 
done  without  a  wise  thought  of  them. 


What  is  a  Home?  69 

Here,  as  in  all  high  art,  the  old  motto  is  in  force, 
"Ars  est  celare  artem"  Children  who  are  taught  too 
plainly  by  every  anxious  look  and  word  of  their  par- 
ents, by  every  family  arrangement,  by  the  impress- 
ment of  every  chance  guest  into  the  service,  that 
their  parents  consider  their  education  as  the  one 
important  matter  in  creation,  are  apt  to  grow  up 
fantastical,  artificial,  and  hopelessly  self-conscious. 
The  stars  cannot  stop  in  their  courses,  even  for  our 
personal  improvement,  and  the  sooner  children  learn 
this,  the  better.  The  great  art  is  to  organize  a  home 
which  shall  move  on  with  a  strong,  wide,  generous 
movement,  where  the  little  people  shall  act  them- 
selves out  as  freely  and  impulsively  as  can  consist 
with  the  comfort  of  the  whole,  and  where  the  anx- 
ious watching  and  planning  for  them  shall  be  kept 
as  secret  from  them  as  possible. 

It  is  well  that  one  of  the  sunniest  and  airiest  rooms 
in  the  house  be  the  children's  nursery.  It  is  good 
philosophy,  too,  to  furnish  it  attractively,  even  if  the 
sum  expended  lower  the  standard  of  parlor-luxuries. 
It  is  well  that  the  children's  chamber,  which  is  to 
act  constantly  on  their  impressible  natures  for  years, 
should  command  a  better  prospect,  a  sunnier  aspect, 
than  one  which  serves  for  a  day's  occupancy  of  the 
transient  guest.  It  is  well  that  journeys  should  be 
made  or  put  off  in  view  of  the  interests  of  the  chil- 


7O  House  and  Home  Papers. 

dren,  —  that  guests  should  be  invited  with  a  view  to 
their  improvement,  —  that  some  intimacies  should  be 
chosen  and  some  rejected  on  their  account.  But  it 
is  not  well  that  all  this  should,  from  infancy,  be  daily 
talked  out  before  the  child,  and  he  grow  up  in  egotism 
from  moving  in  a  sphere  where  everything  from  first 
to  last  is  calculated  and  arranged  with  reference  to 
himself.  A  little  appearance  of  wholesome  neglect 
combined  with  real  care  and  never-ceasing  watchful- 
ness has  often  seemed  to  do  wonders  in  this  work 
of  setting  human  beings  on  their  own  feet  for  the 
life-journey. 

Education  is  the  highest  object  of  home,  but  edu- 
cation in  the  widest  sense,  —  education  of  the  parents 
no  less  than  of  the  children.  In  a  true  home  the 
man  and  the  woman  receive,  through  their  cares,, 
their  watchings,  their  hospitality,  their  charity,  the 
last  and  highest  finish  that  eartfi  can  put  upon  them. 
From  that  they  must  pass  upward,  for  earth  can  teach 
them  no  more. 

The  home-education  is  incomplete,  unless  it  include 
the  idea  of  hospitality  and  charity.  Hospitality  is  a 
Biblical  and  apostolic  virtue,  and  not  so  often  recom- 
mended in  Holy  Writ  without  reason.  Hospitality 
is  much  neglected  in  America  for  the  very  reasons 
touched  upon  above.  We  have  received  our  ideas 
of  propriety  and  elegance  of  living  from  old  coun- 


What  is  a  Home?  71 

tries,  where  labor  is  cheap,  where  domestic  service 
is  a  well-understood,  permanent  occupation,  adopted 
cheerfully  for  life,  and  where  of  course  there  is  such 
a  subdivision  of  labor  as  insures  great  thoroughness 
in  all  its  branches.  We  are  ashamed  or  afraid  to 
conform  honestly  and  hardily  to  a  state  of  things 
purely  American.  We  have  not  yet  accomplished 
what  our  friend  the  Doctor  calls  "  our  weaning,"  and 
learned  that  dinners  with  circuitous  courses  and 
divers  other  Continental  and  English  refinements, 
well  enough  in  their  way,  cannot  be  accomplished 
in  families  with  two  or  three  untrained  servants,  with- 
out an  expense  of  care  and  anxiety  which  makes  them 
heart-withering  •  to  the  delicate  wife,  and  too  severe  a 
trial, to  occur  often.  America  is  the  land  of  subdi- 
vided fortunes,  of  a  general  average  of  wealth  and 
comfort,  and  there  ought  to  be,  therefore,  an  under- 
standing in  the  social  basis  far  more  simple  than. in 
the  Old  World. 

Many  families  of  small  fortunes  know  this,  —  they 
are  quietly  living  so,  —  but  they  have  not  the  steadi- 
ness to  share  their  daily  average  living  with  a  friend, 
a  traveller,  or  guest,  just  as  the  Arab  shares  his  tent 
and  the  Indian  his  bowl  of  succotash.  They  cannot 
have  company,  they  say.  Why  ?  Because  it  is  such 
a  fuss  to  get  out  the  best  things,  and  then  to  put 
them  back  again.  But  why  get  out  the  best  things  ? 


72  House  and  Home  Papers. 

Why  not  give  your  friend,  what  he  would  like  a  thou- 
sand times  better,  a  bit  of  your  average  home-life,  a 
seat  at  any  time  at  your  board,  a  seat  at  your  fire  ? 
If  he  sees  that  there  is  a  handle  off  your  teacup, 
and  that  there  is  a  crack  across  one  of  your  plates, 
he  only  thinks,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  Well,  mine  are  n't 
the  only  things  that  meet  with  accidents,"  and  he  feels 
nearer  to  you  ever  after ;  he  will  let  you  come  to  his 
table  and  see  the  cracks  in  his  teacups,  and  you  will 
condole  with  each  other  on  the  transient  nature  of 
earthly  possessions.  If  it  become  apparent  in  these 
entirely  undressed  rehearsals  that  your  children  are 
sometimes  disorderly,  and  that  your  cook  sometimes 
overdoes  the  meat,  and  that  your  second  girl  some- 
times is  awkward  in  waiting,  or  has  forgotten  a  table 
propriety,  your  friend  only  feels,  "Ah,  well,  other 
people  have  trials  as  well  as  I,"  and  he  thinks,  if  you 
come  to  see  him,  he  shall  feel  easy  with  you. 

"  Having  company"  is  an  expense  that  may  always 
be  felt ;  but  easy  daily  hospitality,  the  plate  always  on 
your  table  for  a  friend,  is  an  expense  that  appears  on 
no  account-book,  and  a  pleasure  that  is  daily  and  con- 
stant 

Under  this  head  of  hospitality,  let  us  suppose  a 
case.  A  traveller  comes  from  England  ;  he  comes  in 
good  faith  and  good  feeling  to  see  how  Americans 
live.  He  merely  wants  to  penetrate  into  the  interior 


What  is  a  Home?  73 

of  domestic  life,  to  see.  what  there  is  genuinely  and 
peculiarly  American  about  it.  Now  here  is  Smilax, 
who  is  living,  in  a  small,  neat  way,  on  his  salary  from 
the  daily  press.  He  remembers  hospitalities  received 
from  our  traveller  in  England,  and  wants  to  return 
them.  He  remembers,  too,  with  dismay,  a  well-kept 
establishment,  the  well-served  table,  the  punctilious, 
orderly  servants.  Smilax  keeps  two,  a  cook  and 
chambermaid,  who  divide  the  functions  of  his  estab- 
lishment between  them.  What  shall  he  do  ?  Let  him 
say,  in  a  fair,  manly  way,  "  My  dear  fellow,  I  'm  de- 
lighted to  see  you.  I  live  in  a  small  way,  but  I  '11  do 
my  best  for  you,  and  Mrs.  Smilax  will  be  delighted. 
Come  and  dine  with  us,  so  and  so,  and  we  '11  bring  in 
one  or  two  friends."  So  the  man  comes,  and  Mrs. 
Smilax  serves  up  such  a  dinner  as  lies  within  the 
limits  of  her  knowledge  and  the  capacities  of  her 
servants.  All  plain,  good  of  its  kind,  unpretending, 
without  an  attempt  to  do  anything  English  or  French, 
—  to  do  anything  more  than  if  she  were  furnishing  a 
gala-dinner  for  her  father  or  returned  brother.  Show 
him  your  house  freely,  just  .as  it  is,  talk  to  him  freely 
of  it,  just  as  he  in  England  showed  you  his  larger 
house  and  talked  to  you  of  his  finer  things.  If  the 
man  is  a  true  man,  he  will  thank  you  for  such  unpre- 
tending, sincere  welcome ;  if  he  is  a  man  of  straw, 
then  he  is  not  worth  wasting  Mrs.  Smilax's  health  and 
4 


74  House  and  Home  Papers. 

spirits  for,  in  unavailing  efforts  to  get  up  a  foreign 
dinner-party. 

A  man  who  has  any  heart  in  him  values  a  genuine, 
little  bit  of  home  more  than  anything  else  you  can  give 
him.  He  can  get  French  cooking  at  a  restaurant ;  he 
can  buy  expensive  wines  at  first-class  hotels,  if  he 
wants  them ;  but  the  traveller,  though  ever  so  rich  and 
ever  so  well-served  at  home,  is,  after  all,  nothing  but 
a  man  as  you  are,  and  he  is  craving  something  that 
does  n't  seem  like  an  hotel,  —  some  bit  of  real,  gen- 
uine heart-life.  Perhaps  he  would  like  better  than 
anything  to  show  you  the  last  photograph  of  his  wife, 
or  to  read  to  you  the  great,  round-hand  letter  of  his 
ten-year-old  which  he  has  got  to-day.  He  is  ready  to 
cry  when  he  thinks  of  it.  In  this  mood  he  goes  to 
see  you,  hoping  for  something  like  home,  and  you 
first  receive  him  in  a  parlor  opened  only  on  state 
occasions,  and  that  has  been  circumstantially  and 
exactly  furnished,  as  the  upholsterer  assures  you,  as 
every  other  parlor  of  the  kind  in  the  city  is  furnished. 
You  treat  him  to  a  dinner  got  up  for  the  occasion, 
with  hired  waiters,  —  a  dinner  which  it  has  taken 
Mrs.  Smilax  a  week  to  prepare  for,  and  will  take  her 
a  week  to  recover  from,  —  for  which  the  baby  has 
been  snubbed  and  turned  off,  to  his  loud  indignation, 
and  your  young  four-year-old  sent  to  his  aunts.  Your 
traveller  eats  your  dinner,  and  finds  it  inferior,  as  a 


What  is  a  Home?  75 

work  of  art,  to  other  dinners, — a  poor  imitation.  He 
goes  away  and  criticises ;  you  hear  of  it,  and  resolve 
never  to  invite  a  foreigner  again.  But  if  you  had 
given  him  a  little  of  your  heart,  a  little  home-warmth 
and  feeling,  —  if  you  had  shown  him  your  baby,  and 
let  him  romp  with  your  four-year-old,  and  eat  a  gen- 
uine dinner  with  you,  —  would  he  have  been  false  to 
that  ?  Not  so  likely.  He  wanted  something  real  and 
human,  —  you  gave  him  a  bad  dress-rehearsal,  and 
dress-rehearsals  always  provoke  criticism. 

Besides  hospitality,  there  is,  in  a  true  home,  a  mis- 
sion of  charity. ,  It  is  a  just  law  which  regulates  the 
possession  of  great  or  beautiful  works  of  art  in  the 
Old  World,  that  they  shall  in  some  sense  be  con- 
sidered the  property  of  all  who  can  appreciate.  Fine 
grounds  have  hours  when  the  public  may  be  admitted, 
—  pictures  and  statues  may  be  shown  to  visitors  ;  and 
this  is  a  noble  charity.  In  the  same  manner  the  for- 
tunate individuals  who  have  achieved  the  greatest  of 
all  human  works  of  art  should  jemploy  it  as  a  sacred 
charity.  How  many,  morally  wearied,  wandering,  dis- 
abled, are  healed  and  comforted  by  the  warmth  of  a 
true  home  !  When  a  mother  has  sent  her  son  to  the 
temptations  of  a  distant  city,  what  news  is  so  glad  to 
her  heart  as  that  he  has  found  some  quiet  family 
where  he  visits  often  and  is  made  to  feel  AT  HOME  ? 
How  many  young  men  have  good  women  saved  from 


76  House  and  Home  Papers. 

temptation  and  shipwreck  by  drawing  them  often  to 
the  sheltered  corner  by  the  fireside  !  The  poor  artist, 
—  the  wandering  genius  who  has  lost  his  way  in  this 
world,  and  stumbles  like  a  child  among  hard  realities, 
• — the- many  men  and  women  who,  while  they  have 
houses,  have  no  homes,  —  see  from  afar,  in  their  dis- 
tant, bleak  life-journey,  the  light  of  a  true  home-fire, 
and,  if  made  welcome  there,  warm  their  stiffened 
limbs,  and  go  forth  stronger  to  their  pilgrimage.  Let 
those  who  have  accomplished  this  beautiful  and  per- 
fect work  of  divine  art  be  liberal  of  its  influence.  Let 
them  not  seek  to  bolt  the  doors  ancj  draw  the  cur- 
tains ;  for  they  know  not,  and  will  never  know  till  the 
future  life,  of  the  good  they  may  do  by  the  ministra- 
tion of  this  great  charity  of  home. 

We  have  heard  much  lately  of  the  restricted  sphere 
of  woman.  We  have  been  told  how  many  spirits 
among  women  are  of  a  wider,  stronger,  more  heroic 
mould  than  befits  the  mere  routine  of  housekeeping. 
It  may  be  true  that  there  are  many  women  far  too 
great,  too  wise,  too  high,  for  mere  housekeeping. 
But  where  is  the  woman  in  any  way  too  great  or  too 
high,  or  too  wise,  to  spend  herself  in  creating  a 
home  ?  What  can  any  woman  make  diviner,  higher, 
better?  From  such  homes  go  forth  all  heroisms,  all 
inspirations,  all  great  deeds.  Such  mothers  and  such 
homes  have  made  the  heroes  and  martyrs,  faithful 


What  is  a  Home?  77 

unto  death,  who  have  given  their  precious  lives  to  us 
during  these  three  years  of  our  agony ! 

Homes  are  the  work  of  art  peculiar  to  the  genius 
of  woman.  Man  helps  in  this  work,  but  woman  leads ; 
the  hive  is  always  in  confusion  without  the  gueen-bee. 
But  what  a  woman  must  she  be  who  does  this  work 
perfectly !  She  comprehends  all,  she  balances  and 
arranges  all ;  all  different  tastes  and  temperaments 
find  in  her  their  rest,  and  she  can  unite  at  one  hearth- 
stone the  most  discordant  elements.  In  her  is  order, 
yet  an  order  ever  veiled  and  concealed  by  indulgence. 
None  are  checked,  reproved,  abridged  of  privileges 
by  her  love  of  system ;  for  she  knows  that  order  was 
made  for  the  family,  and  not  the  family  for  order. 
Quietly  she  takes  on  herself  what  all  others  refuse  or 
overlook.  What  the  unwary  disarrange  she  silently 
rectifies.  Everybody  in  her  sphere  breathes  easy, 
feels  free  ;  and  the  driest  twig  begins  in  her  sunshine 
to  put  out  buds  and  blossoms.  So  quiet  are  her 
operations  and  movements,  that  none  sees  that  it  is 
she  who  holds  all  things  in  harmony ;  only,  alas, 
when  she  is  gone,  how  many  things  suddenly  ap- 
pear disordered,  inharmonious,  neglected  !  All  these 
threads  have  been  smilingly  held  in  her  weak  hand. 
Alas,  if  that  .is  no  longer  there  ! 

Can  any  woman  be  such  a  housekeeper  without 
inspiration  ?  No.  In  the  words  of  the  old  church- 


78  House  and  Home  Papers. 

service,  "  Her  soul  must  ever  have  affiance  in  God." 
The  New  Jerusalem  of  a  perfect  home  cometh  down 
from  God  out  of  heaven.  But  to  make  such  a  home 
is  ambition  high  and  worthy  enough  for  any  woman, 
be  she  what  she  may. 

One  thing  more.  Right  on  the  threshold  of  all  per- 
fection lies  the  cross  to  be  taken  up.  No  one  can  go 
over  or  around  that  cross  in  science  or  in  art.  With- 
out labor  and  self-denial  neither  Raphael  nor  Michel 
Angelo  nor  Newton  was  made  perfect.  Nor  can  man 
or  woman  create  a  true  home  who  is  not  willing  in  the 
outset  to  embrace  life  heroically,  to  encounter  labor 
and  sacrifice.  Only  to  such  shall  this  divinest  power 
be  given  to  create  on  earth  that  which  is  the  nearest 
image  of  heaven. 


IV. 

THE    ECONOMY    OF    THE    BEAUTIFUL. 

/TTVALKING  to  you  in  this  way  once  a  month,  O 
-L  my  confidential  reader,  there  seems  to  be  dan- 
ger, as  in  all  intervals  of  friendship,  that  we  shall  not 
readily  be  able  to  take  up  our  strain  of  conversation 
just  where  we  left  off.  Suffer  me,  therefore,  to  remind 
you  that  the  month  past  left  us  seated  at  the  fireside, 
just  as  we  had  finished  reading  of  what  a  home  was, 
and  how  to  make  one. 

The  fire  had  burned  low,  and  great,  solid  hickory 
coals  were  winking  dreamily  at  us  from  out  their  fluffy 
coats  of  white  ashes, — just  as  if  some  household 
sprite  there  were  opening  now  one  eye  and  then  the 
other,  and  looking  in  a  sleepy,  comfortable  way  at  us. 

The  close  of  my  piece,  about  the  good  house- 
mother, had  seemed  to  tell  on  my  little  audience. 
Marianne  had  nestled  close  to  her  mother,  and  laid 
her  head  on  her  knee  ;  and  though  Jenny  sat  up 
straight  as  a  pin,  yet  her  ever-busy  knitting  was 
dropped  in  her  lap,  and  I  saw  the  glint  of  a  tear  in 
her  quick,  sparkling  eye,  —  yes,  actually  a  little  bright 


8o  House  and  Home  Papers. 

bead  fell  upon  her.  work ;  whereupon  she  started  up 
actively,  and  declared  that  the  fire  wanted  just  one 
more  stick  to  make  a  blaze  before  bedtime  ;  and  then 
there  was  such  a  raking  among  the  coals,  such  an 
adjusting  of  the  andirons,  such  vigorous  arrangement 
of  the  wood,  and  such  a  brisk  whisking  of  the  hearth- 
brush,  that  it  was  evident  Jenny  had  something  on 
her  mind. 

When  all  was  done,  she  sat  down  again  and  looked 
straight  into  the  blaze,  which  went  dancing  and  crack- 
ling up,  casting  glances  and  flecks  of  light  on  our 
pictures  and  books,  and  making  all  the  old,  familiar 
furniture  seem  full  of  life  and  motion. 

"  I  think  that 's  a  good  piece,"  she  said,  decisively. 
"  I  think  those  are  things  that  should  be  thought 
about." 

Now  Jenny  was  the  youngest  of  our  flock,  and 
therefore,  in  a  certain  way,  regarded  by  my  wife  and 
me  as  perennially  "  the  baby " ;  and  these  little,  old- 
fashioned,  decisive  ways  of  announcing  her  opinions 
seemed  so  much  a  part  of  her  nature,  so  peculiarly 
"  Jennyish,"  as  I  used  to  say,  that  my  wife  and  I  only 
exchanged  amused  glances  over  her  head,  when  they 
occurred. 

In  a  general  way,  Jenny,  standing  in  the  full  orb  of 
her  feminine  instincts  like  Diana  in  the  moon,  rather 
looked  down  on  all  masculine  views  of  women's  mat- 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  8 1 

ters  as  "  tolerabiles  ineptice  "  /  but  towards  her  papa  she 
had  gracious  turns  of  being  patronizing  to  the  last 
degree  ;  and  one  of  these  turns  was  evidently  at  its 
flood-tide,  as  she  proceeded  to  say, — 

"/think  papa  is  right,  —  that  keeping  house  and 
having  a  home,  and  all  that,  is  a  very  serious  thing, 
and  that  people  go  into  it  with  very  little  thought 
about  it.  I  really  think  those  things  papa  has  been 
saying  there  ought  to  be  thought  about." 

"  Papa,"  said  Marianne,  "  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  exactly  how  you  would  spend  that  money  you 
gave  me  for  house-furnishing.  I  should  like  just  your 
views." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Jenny,  with  eagerness  ;  "  because 
it  is  just  as  papa  says,  —  a  sensible  man,  who  has 
thought,  and  had  experience,  can't  help  having  some 
ideas,  even  about  women's  affairs,  £hat  are  worth 
attending  to.  I  think  so,  decidedly." 

I  acknowledged  the  compliment  for  my  sex  and 
myself  with  my  best  bow. 

"  But  then,  papa,"  said  Marianne,  "  I  can't  help 
feeling  sorry  that  one  can't  live  in  such  a  way  as  to 
have  beautiful  things  around  one.  I  'm  sorry  they 
must  cost  so  much,  and  take  so  much  care,  for  I  am 
made  so  that  I  really  want  them.  I  do  so  like  to  see 
pretty  things  !  I  do  like  rich  carpets  and  elegant 
carved  furniture,  and  fine  china  and  cut-glass  and 
4*  F 


82  House  and  Home  Papers. 

silver.  I  can't  bear  mean,  common-looking  rooms. 
I  should  so  like  to  have  my  house  look  beautiful ! " 

"  Your  house  ought  not  to  look  mean  and  common, 
—  your  house  ought  to  look  beautiful,"  I  replied.  "  It 
would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame  to  have  it  otherwise.  No 
house  ought  to  be  fitted  up  for  a  future  home  without 
a  strong  and  a  leading  reference  to  beauty  in  all  its 
arrangements.  If  I  were  a  Greek,  I  should  say  that 
the  first  household  libation  should  be  made  to  beauty ; 
but,  being  an  old-fashioned  Christian,  I  would  say 
that  he  who  prepares  a  home  with  no  eye  to  beauty 
neglects  the  example  of  the  great  Father  who  has 
filled  our  earth-home  with  such  elaborate  ornament." 

"  But  then,  papa,  there  's  the  money  !  "  .said  Jenny, 
shaking  her  little  head  wisely.  "  You  men  don't  think 
of  that.  You  want  us  girls,  for  instance,  to  be  pat- 
terns of  economy,  but  we  must  always  be  wearing 
fresh,  nice  things ;  you  abhor  soiled  gloves  and  worn 
shoes  :  and  yet  how  is  all  this  to  be  done  without 
money  ?  And  it 's  just  so  in  housekeeping.  You  sit 
in  your  arm-chairs  and  conjure  up  visions  of  all  sorts 
of  impossible  things  to  be  done ;  but  when  mamma 
there  takes  out  that  little  account-book,  and  figures 
away  on  the  cost  of  things,  where  do  the  visions  go  ? " 

"You  are  mistaken,  my  little  dear,  and  you  talk 
just  like  a  woman,"  —  (this  was  my  only  way  of 
revenging  myself,)  — "  that  is  to  say,  you  jump  to 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  83 

conclusions,  without  sufficient  knowledge.  I  main- 
tain that  in  house-furnishing,  as  well  as  woman-fur- 
nishing, there  's  nothing  so  economical  as  beauty." 

"  There  's  one  of  papa's  paradoxes  ! "  said  Jenny. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "that  is  my  thesis,  which  I  shall 
nail  up  over  the  mantel-piece  there,  as  Luther  nailed 
his  to  the  church-door.  It  is  time  to  rake  up  the  fire 
now  ;  but  to-morrow  night  I  will  give  you  a  paper  on 
the  Economy  of  the  Beautiful." 

***** 

"  Come,  now  we  are  to  have  papa's  paradox,"  said 
Jenny,  as  soon  as  the  tea-things  had  been  carried  out. 

Entre  nous,  I  must  tell  you  that  insensibly  we  had 
fallen  into  the  habit  of  taking  our  tea  by  my  study- 
fire.  Tea,  you  know,  is  a  mere  nothing  in  itself,  its 
only  merit  being  its  social  and  poetic  associations,  its 
warmth  and  fragrance,  —  and  the  more  socially  and 
informally  it  can  be  dispensed,  the  more  in  keeping 
with  its  airy  and  cheerful  nature. 

Our  circle  was  enlightened  this  evening  by  the 
cheery  visage  of  Bob  Stephens,  seated,  as  of  right, 
close  to  Marianne's  work-basket. 

"  You  see,  Bob,"  said  Jenny,  "papa  has  undertaken 
to  prove  that  the  most  beautiful  things  are  always  the 
cheapest." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Bob,  —  "for  there 's 
a  carved  antique  bookcase  and  study-table  that  I  have 


84  House  and  Home  Papers. 

my  eye  on,  and  if  this  can  in  any  way  be  made  to 
appear  —  " 

"  O,  it  won't  be  made  to  appear,"  said  Jenny,  set- 
tling herself  at  her  knitting,  "  only  in  some  transcen- 
dental, poetic  sense,  such  as  papa  can  always  make 
out.  Papa  is  more  than  half  a  poet,  and -his  truths 
turn  out  to  be  figures  of  rhetoric,  when  one  comes  to 
apply  them  to  matters  of  fact." 

"Now,  Miss  Jenny,  please  remember  my  subject 
and  thesis,"  I  replied,  —  "  that  in  house-furnishing 
there  is  nothing  so  economical  as  beauty ;  and  I  will 
make  it  good  against  all  comers,  not  by  figures  of 
rhetoric,  but  by  figures  of  arithmetic.  I  am  going  to 
be  very  matter-of-fact  and  commonplace  in  my  details, 
and  keep  ever  in  view  the  addition-table.  I  will  in- 
stance a  case  which  has  occurred  under  my  own  obser- 
vation." 

THE  ECONOMY  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

Two  of  the  houses  lately  built  on  the  new  land  in 
Boston  were  bought  by  two  friends,  Philip  and  John. 
Philip  had  plenty  of  money,  and  paid  the  cash  down 
for  his  house,  without  feeling  the  slightest  vacancy 
in  his  pocket.  John,  who  was  an  active,  rising  young 
man,  just  entering  on  a  flourishing  business,  had  ex- 
pended all  his  moderate  savings  for  years  in  the 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  85 

purchase  of  his  dwelling,  and  still  had  a  mortgage 
remaining,  which  he  hoped  to  clear  off  by  his  future 
successes.  Philip  begins  the  work  of  furnishing  as 
people  do  with  whom  money  is  abundant,  and  who 
have  simply  to  go  from  shop  to  shop  and  order  all 
that  suits  their  fancy  arid  is  considered  '  the  thing '  in 
good  society.  John  begins  to  furnish  with  very  little 
money.  He  has  a  wife  and  two  little  ones,  and  he 
wisely  deems  that  to  insure  to  them  a  well-built  house, 
in  an  open,  airy  situation,  with  conveniences  for  warm- 
ing, bathing,  and  healthy  living,  is  a  wise  beginning  in 
life  ;  but  it  leaves  him  "little  or  nothing  beyond. 

Behold,  then,  Philip  and  his  wife,  well  pleased, 
going  the  rounds  of  shops  and  stores  in  fitting  up 
their  new  dwelling,  and  let  us  follow  step  by  step. 
To  begin  with  the  wall-paper.  Imagine  a  front  and 
back  parlor,  with  folding-doors,  with  two  south  win- 
dows on  the  front,  and  two  looking  on  a  back  court, 
after  the  general  manner  of  city  houses.  We  will 
suppose  they  require  about  thirty  rolls  of  wall-paper. 
Philip  buys  the  heaviest  French  velvet,  with  gildings 
and  traceries,  at  four  dollars  a  roll.  This,  by  the  time 
it  has  been  put  on,  with  gold  mouldings,  according  to 
the  most  established  taste  of  the  best  paper-hangers, 
will  bring  the  wall-paper  of  the  two  rooms  to  a  figure , 
something  like  two  hundred  dollars.  Now  they  pro- 
ceed to  the  carpet-stores,  and  there  are  thrown  at 


86  House  and  Home  Papers. 

their  feet  by  obsequious  clerks  velvets  and  Axmin- 
sters,  with  flowery  convolutions  and  medallion-centres, 
as  if  the  flower-gardens  of  the  tropics  were  whirling 
in  waltzes,  with  graceful  lines  of  arabesque,  —  roses, 
callas,  lilies,  knotted,  wreathed,  twined,  with  blue  and 
crimson  and  golden  ribbons,  dazzling  marvels  of  color 
and  tracery.  There  is  no  restraint  in  price,  —  four  or 
six  dollars  a  yard,  it  is  all  the  same  to  them,  —  and 
soon  a  magic  flower-garden  blooms  on  the  floors,  at  a 
cost  of  five  hundred  dollars.  A  pair  of  elegant  rugs, 
at  fifty  dollars  apiece,  complete  the  inventory,  and 
bring  our  rooms  to  the  mark  of  eight  hundred  dollars 
for  papering  and  carpeting  alone.  Now  come  the 
great  mantel-mirrors  for  four  hundred  more,  and  our 
rooms  progress.  Then  comes  the  upholsterer,  and 
measures  our  four  windows,  that  he  may  skilfully  bar- 
ricade them  from  air  and  sunshine.  The  fortifications 
against  heaven,  thus  prepared,  cost,  in  the  shape  of 
damask,  cord,  tassels,  shades,  laces,  and  cornices, 
about  two  hundred  dollars  per  window.  To  be  sure, 
they  make  the  rooms  close  and  sombre  as  the  grave  ; 
but  they  are  of  the  most  splendid  stuffs  ;  and  if  the 
sun  would  only  reflect,  he  would  see,  himself,  how 
foolish  it  was  for  him  to  try  to  force  himself  into  a 
window  guarded  by  his  betters.  If  there  is  anything 
cheap  and  plebeian,  it  is  sunshine  and  fresh  air  !  Be- 
hold us,  then,  with  our  two  rooms  papered,  carpeted, 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  87 

and  curtained  for  two  thousand  dollars  ;  and  now  are 
to  be  put  in  them  sofas,  lounges,  e'tageres,  centre- 
tables,  screens,  chairs  of  every  pattern  and  device, 
for  which  it  is  but  moderate  to  allow  a  thousand  more. 
We  have  now  two  parlors  furnished  at  an  outlay  of 
three  thousand  dollars,  without  a  single  picture,  a 
single  article  of  statuary,  a  single  object  of  Art  of  any 
kind,  and  without  any  light  to  see  them  by,  if  they 
were  there.  We  must  say  for  our  Boston  upholsterers 
and  furniture-makers  that  such  good  taste  generally 
reigns  in  their  establishments  that  rooms  furnished  -at 
hap-hazard  from  them  cannot  fail  of  a  certain  air  of 
good  taste,  so  far  as  the  individual  things  are  con- 
cerned. But  the  different  articles  we  have  supposed, 
having  been  ordered  without  reference  to  one  another 
or  the  rooms,  have,  when  brought  together,  no  unity 
of  effect,  and  the  general  result  is  scattering  and  con- 
fused. If  asked  how  Philip's  parlors  look,  your  reply 
is,  "  O,  the  usual  way  of  such  parlors,  —  everything 
that  such  people  usually  get,  —  medallion-carpets, 
carved  furniture,  great  mirrors,  bronze  mantel-orna- 
ments, and  so  on."  The  only  impression  a  stranger 
receives,  while  waiting  in  the  dim  twilight  of  these 
rooms,  is  that  their  owner  is  rich,  and  able  to  get 
good,  handsome  things,  such  as  all  other  rich  people 
get. 

Now  our  friend  John,  as  often  happens  in  America, 


88  House  and  Home  Papers. 


is  moving  in  the  same  social  circle  with  Philip,  visiting 
the  same  people,  —  his  house  is  the*  twin  of  the  one 
Philip  has  been  furnishing,  and  how  shall  he,  with  a 
few  hundred  dollars,  make  his  rooms  even  presentable 
beside  those  which  Philip  has  fitted  up  elegantly  at 
three  thousand  ? 

Now  for  the  economy  of  beauty.  Our  friend  must 
make  his  prayer  to  the  Graces,  —  for,  if  they  cannot 
save  him,  nobody  can.  One  thing  John  has  to  begin 
with,  that  rare  gift  to  man,  a  wife  with  the  magic 
cestus  of  Venus,  —  not  around  her  waist,  but,  if  such 
a  thing  could  be,  in  her  finger-ends.  All  that  she 
touches  falls  at  once  into  harmony  and  proportion. 
Her  eye  for  color  and  form  is  intuitive  :  let  her  arrange 
a  garret,  with  nothing  but  boxes,  barrels,  and  cast-off 
furniture  in  it,  and  ten  to  one  she  makes  it  seem  the 
most  attractive  place  in  the  house.  It  is  a  veritable 
"  gift  of  good  faerie,"  this  tact  of  beautifying  and  ar- 
ranging, that  some  women  have, — and,  on  the  present 
occasion,  it  has  a  real,  material  value,  that  can  be 
estimated  in  dollars  and  cents.  Come  with  us  and 
you  can  see  the  pair  taking  their  survey  of  the  yet 
unfurnished  parlors,  as  busy  and  happy  as  a  couple 
of  bluebirds  picking  up  the  first  sticks  and  straws  for 
their  nest. 

"  There  are  two  sunny  windows  to  begin  with,"  says 
the  good  fairy,  with  an  appreciative  glance.  "  That 
insures  flowers  all  winter." 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  89 

"  Yes,"  says  John  ;  "  I  never  would  look  at  a  house 
without  a  good  sunny  exposure.  Sunshine  is  the  best 
ornament  of  a  house,  and  worth  an  extra  thousand  a 
year." 

"  Now  for  our  wall-paper,"  says  she.  "  Have  you 
looked  at  wall-papers,  John  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  we  shall  get  very  pretty  ones  for  thirty-seven 
cents  a  roll ;  all  you  want  of  a  paper,  you  know,  is 
to  make  a  ground-tint  to  throw  out  your  pictures  and 
other  matters,  and  to  reflect  a  pleasant  tone  of  light." 

"  Well,  John,  you  know  Uncle  James  says  that  a 
stone-color  is  the  best, — but  I  can't  bear  those  cold 
blue  grays." 

"  Nor  I,"  says  John.  "  If  we  must  have  gray,  let 
it  at  least  be  a  gray  suffused  with  gold  or  rose-color, 
such  as  you  see  at  evening  in  the  clouds." 

"  So  I  think,"  responds  she  ;  "  but,  better,  I  should 
like  a  paper  with  a  tone  of  buff,  —  something  that 
produces  warm  yellowish  reflections,  and  will  almost 
make  you  think  the  sun  is  shining  in  cold  gray  weath- 
er j  and  then  there  is  nothing  that  lights  up  so  cheer- 
fully in  the  evening.  In  short,  John,  I  think  the  color 
of  a  zafferano  rose  will  be  just  about  the  shade  we 
want." 

"  Well,  I  can  find  that,  in  good  American  paper,  as 
I  said  before,  at  from  thirty-seven  to  forty  cents  a  roll. 
Then,  our  bordering  :  there  's  an  important  question, 


90  House  and.  Home  Papers. 

for  that  must  determine  the  carpet,  the  chairs,  and 
everything  else.  Now  what  shall  be  the  ground-tint 
of  our  rooms  ? " 

"  There  are  only  two  to  choose  between,"  says  the 
lady,  —  "green  and  marroon  :  which  is  the  best  for  the 
picture  ? " 

"  I  think,"  says  John,  looking  above  the  mantel- 
piece, as  if  he  saw  a  picture  there,  —  "I  think  a 
border  of  marroon  velvet,  with  marroon  furniture,  is 
the  best  for  the  picture." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  she ;  "  and  then  we  will  have 
that  lovely  marroon  and  crimson  carpet  that  I  saw  at 
Lowe's  ;  —  it  is  an  ingrain,  to  be  sure,  but  has  a  Brus- 
sels pattern,  a  mossy,  mixed  figure,  of  different  shades 
of  crimson  ;  it  has  a  good  warm,  strong  color,  and 
when  I  come  to  cover  the  lounges  and  our  two  old 
arm-chairs  with  marroon  rep,  it  will  make  such  a  pretty 
effect." 

"  Yes,"  said  John  ;  "  and  then,  you  know,  our  pic- 
ture is  so  bright,  it  will  light  up  the  whole.  Every- 
thing depends  on  the  picture." 

Now  as  to  "the  picture,"  it  has  a  story  must  be 
told.  John,  having  been  all  his  life  a  worshipper 
and  adorer  of  beauty  and  beautiful  things,  had  never 
passed  to  or  from  his  business  without  stopping  at  the 
print-shop  windows,  and  seeing  a  little  of  what  was 
there. 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  91 

On  one  of  these  occasions  he  was  smitten  to  the. 
heart  with  the  beauty  of  an  autumn  landscape,'  where 
the  red  maples  and  sumachs,  the  purple  and  crimson 
oaks,  all  stood  swathed  and  harmonized  together  in 
the  hazy  Indian-summer  atmosphere.  There  was  a 
great  yellow  chestnut-tree,  on  a  distant  hill,  which 
stood  out  so  naturally  that  John  instinctively  felt  his 
fingers  tingling  for  a  basket,  and  his  heels  alive  with 
a  desire  to  bound  over  on  to  the  rustling  hillside  and 
pick  up  the  glossy  brown  nuts.  Everything  was  there 
of  autumn,  even  to  the  golden-rod  and  purple  asters 
and  scarlet  creepers  in  the  foreground. 

John  went  in  and  inquired.  It  was  by  an  unknown 
French  artist,  without  name  or  patrons,  who  had  just 
come  to  our  shores  to  study  our  scenery,  and  this  was 
the  first  picture  he  had  exposed  for  sale.  John  had 
just  been  paid  a  quarter's  salary;  he  bethought  him 
of  board-bill  and  washerwoman,  sighed,  and  faintly 
offered  fifty  dollars. 

To  his  surprise  he  was  taken  up  at  once,  and  the 
picture  became  his.  John  thought  himself  dreaming. 
He  examined  his  treasure  over  and  over,  and  felt  sure 
that  it  was  the  work  of  no  amateur  beginner,  but  of  a 
trained  hand  and  a  true  artist-soul.  So  he  found  his 
way  to  the  studio  of  the  stranger,  and  apologized  for 
having  got  such  a  gem  for  so  much  less  than  its  worth. 
"  It  was  all  I  could  give,  though,"  he  said  ;  "  and  one 


92  House  and  Home  Papers. 

who  paid  four  times  as  much  could  not  value  it  more." 
And  so  John  took  one  and  another  of  his  friends,  with 
longer  purses  than  his  own,  to  the  studio  of  the  mod- 
est stranger ;  and  nowr  his  pieces  command  their  full 
worth  in  the  market,  and  he  works  with  orders  far 
ahead  of  his  ability  to  execute,  giving  to  the  canvas 
the  traits  of  American  scenery  as  appreciated  and  felt 
by  the  subtile  delicacy  of  the  French  mind,  —  our 
rural  summer  views,  our  autumn  glories,  and  the 
dreamy,  misty  delicacy  of  our  snowy  winter  land- 
scapes. Whoso  would  know  the  truth  of  the  same, 
let  him  inquire  for  the  modest  studio  of  Morvillier, 
at  Maiden,  scarce  a  bow-shot  from  our  Boston. 
This  picture  had  always  been  the  ruling  star  of 

• 

John's  house,  his  main  dependence  for  brightening  up 
his  bachelor-apartments  ;  and  when  he  came  to  the 
task  of  furbishing  those  same  rooms  for  a  fair  occu- 
pant,  the  picture  was  still  his  mine  of  gold.  For  a 
picture,  painted  by  a  real  artist,  who  studies  Nature 
minutely  and  conscientiously,  has  something  of  the 
charm  of  the  good  Mother  herself,  —  something  of  her 
faculty  of  putting  on  different  aspects  under  different 
lights.  John  and  his  wife  had  studied  their  picture  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  :  they  had  seen  how  it  looked 
when  the  morning  sun  came  aslant  the  scarlet  maples 
and  made  a  golden  shimmer  over  the  blue  mountains, 
how  it  looked  toned  down  in  the  cool  shadows  of  after- 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  93 

noon,  and  how  it  warmed  up  in  the  sunset,  and  died 
off  mysteriously  into  the  twilight ;  and  now,  when 
larger  parlors  were  to  be  furnished,  the  picture  was 
still  the  tower  of  strength,  the  rallying-point  of  their 
hopes. 

"  Do  you  know,  John,"  said  the  wife,  hesitating,  "  I 
am  really  in  doubt  whether  we  shall  not  have  to  get 
at  least  a  few  new  chairs  and  a  sofa  for  our  parlors  ? 
They  are  putting  in  such  splendid  things  at  the  other 
door  that  I  am  positively  ashamed  of  ours  ;  the  fact 
is,  they  look  almost  disreputable,  —  like  a  heap  of 
rubbish." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  laughing,  "  I  don't  suppose  all 
together  sent  to  an  auction-room  would  bring  us  fifty 
dollars,  and  yet,  such  as  they  are,  they  answer  the 
place  of  better  things  for  us  ;  and  the  fact  is,  Mary, 
the  hard  impassable  barrier  in  the  case  is,  that  there 
really  is  no  money  to  get  any  more" 

"Ah,  well,  then,  if  there  is  n't,  we  must  see  what 
we  can  do  with  these,  and  summon  all  the  good  fairies 
to  our  aid,"  said  Mary.  "  There  's  your  little  cabinet- 
maker, John,  will  look  over  the  things,  and  furbish 
them  up  ;  there  's  that  broken  arm  of  the  chair  must 
be  mended,  and  everything  revarnished ;  then  I  have 
found  such  a  lovely  rep,  of  just  the  richest  shade  of 
marroon,  inclining  to  crimson,  and  when  we  come  to 
cover  the  lounges  and  arm-chairs  and  sofas  and  otto- 


94  House  and  Home  Papers. 

mans  all  alike,  you  know  they  will  be  quite  another 
thing." 

"  Trust  you  for  that,  Mary  !  By  the  by,  I  Ve  found 
a  nice  little  woman,  who  has  worked  on  upholstery, 
who  will  come  in  by  the  day,  and  be  the  hands  that 
shall  execute  the  decrees  of  your  taste." 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  we  shall  get  on  capitally.  Do  you 
know  that  I  'm  almost  glad  we  can't  get  new  things  ? 
it 's  a  sort  of  enterprise  to  see  what  we  can  do  with 
old  ones." 

"  Now,  you  see,  Mary,"  said  John,  seating  himself 
on  a  lime-cask  which  the  plasterers  had  left,  and  tak- 
ing out  his  memorandum-book,  "  you  see,  I  've  calcu- 
lated this  thing  all  over  ;  I  've  found  a  way  by  which 
I  can  make  our  rooms  beautiful  and  attractive  without 
a  cent  expended  on  new  furniture." 

"  Well,  let 's  hear." 

"  Well,  my  way  is  short  and  simple.  We  must  put 
things  into  our  rooms  that  people  will  look  at,  so  that 
they  will  forget  to  look  at  the  furniture,  and  never 
once  trouble  their  heads  about  it.  People  never  look 
at  furniture  so  long  as  there  is  anything  else  to  look 
at ;  just  as  Napoleon,  when  away  on  one  of  his  expe- 
ditions, being  told  that  the  French  populace  were 
getting  disaffected,  wrote  back,  'Gild  the  dome  des 
Invalidesj  and  so  they  gilded  it,  and  the  people,  look- 
ing at  that,  forgot  everything  else." 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  95 

"  But  I  'm  not  clear  yet,"  said  Mary,  "  what  is  com- 
ing of  this  rhetoric." 

"  Well,  then,  Mary,  I  '11  tell  you.  A  suit  of  new 
carved  black-walnut  furniture,  severe  in  taste  and 
perfect  in  style,  such  as  I  should  choose  at  David 
and  Saul's,  could  not  be  got  under  three  hundred  dol- 
lars, and  I  have  n't  the  three  hundred  to  give.  What, 
then,  shall  we  do  ?  We  must  fall  back  on  our  re- 
sources ;  we  must  look  over  our  treasures.  We  have 
our  proof  cast  of  the  great  glorious  head  of  the  Venus 
di  Milo  ;  we  have  those  six  beautiful  photographs  of 
Rome,  that  Brown  brought  to  us  ;  we  have  the  great 
German  lithograph  of  the  San  Sisto  Mother  and  Child, 
and  we  have  the  two  angel-heads,  from  the  same ;  we 
have  that  lovely  golden  twilight  sketch  of  Heade's ; 
we  have  some  sea-photographs  of  Bradford's ;  we  have 
an  original  pen-and-ink  sketch  by  Billings  ;  and  then, 
as  before,  we  have  '  our  picture.'  What  has  been  the 
use  of  our  watching  at  the  gates  and  waiting  at  the 
doors  of  Beauty  all  our  lives,  if  she  has  n't  thrown  us 
out  a  crust  now  and  then,  so  that  we  might  have  it  for 
time  of  need  ?  Now,  you  see,  Mary,  we  must  make 
the  toilet  of  our  rooms  just  as  a  pretty  woman  makes 
hers  when  money  runs  low,  and  she  sorts  and  freshens 
her  ribbons,  and  matches  them  to  her  hair  and  eyes, 
and,  with  a  bow  here,  and  a  bit  of  fringe  there,  and  a 
button  somewhere  else,  dazzles  us  into  thinking  that 


96  House  and  Home  Papers. 

she  has  an  infinity  of  beautiful  attire.  Our  rooms  are 
new  and  pretty  of  ^themselves,  to  begin  with ;  the  tint 
of  the  paper,  and  the  rich  coloring  of  the  border, 
corresponding  with  the  furniture  and  carpets,  will 
make  them  seem  prettier.  And  now  for  arrangement. 
Take  this  front-room.  I  propose  to  fill  those  two 
recesses  e"ach  side  of  the  fireplace  with  my 'books,  in 
their  plain  pine  cases,  just  breast-high  from  the  floor  : 
they  are  stained  a  good  dark  color,  and  nobody  need 
stick  a  pin  in  them  to  find  out  that  they  are  not  rose- 
wood. The  top  of  these  shelves  on  either  side  to  be 
covered  with  the  same  stuff  as  the  furniture,  finished 
with  a  crimson  fringe.  On  top  of  the  shelves  on  one 
side  of  the  fireplace  I  shall  set  our  noble  Venus  di 
Milo,  and  I  shall  buy  at  Cicci's  the  lovely  Clytie,  and 
put  it  the  other  side.  Then  I  shall  get  of  Williams 
and  Everett  two  of  their  chromo-lithographs,  which 
give  you  all  the  style  and  charm  of  the  best  English 
water-color  school.  I  will  have  the  lovely  Bay  of 
Amain  over  my  Venus,  because  she  came  from  those 
suns  and  skies  of  Southern  Italy,  and  I  will  hang 
Lake  Como  over  my  Clytie.  Then,  in  the  middle, 
over  the  fireplace,  shall  be  '  our  picture.'  Over  each 
door  shall  hang  one  of  the  lithographed  angel-heads 
of  the  San  Sisto,  to  watch  our  going-out  and  coming- 
in  ;  and  the  glorious  Mother  and  Child  shall  hang 
opposite  the  Venus  di  Milo,  to  show  how  Greek  and 


The  Economy  of  the  Beautiful.  97 

Christian  unite  in  giving  the  noblest  type  to  woman- 
hood. And  then,  when  we  have  all  our  sketches  and 
lithographs  framed  and  hung  here  and  there,  and  your 
flowers  blooming  as  they  always  do,  and  your  ivies 
wandering  and  rambling  as  they  used  to,  and  hanging 
in  the  most  graceful  ways  and  places,  and  all  those 
little  shells  and  ferns  and  vases,  which  you  are  always 
conjuring  with,  tastefully  arranged,  I  '11  venture  to  say 
that  our  rooms  will  be  not  only  pleasant,  but  beautiful, 
and  that  people  will  oftener  say,  '  How  beautiful ! ' 
when  they  enter,  than '  if  we  spent  three  times  the 
money  on  new  furniture." 

In  the  course  of  a  year  after  this  conversation,  one 
and  another  of  my  acquaintances  were  often  heard 
speaking  of  John  Merton's  house.  "  Such  beautiful 
rooms,  —  so  charmingly  furnished,  —  you  must  go  and 
see  them.  What  does  make  them  so  much  pleasanter 
than  those  rooms  in  the  other  house,  which  have 
everything  in  them  that  money  can  buy  ? "  So  said 
the  folk,  —  for  nine  people  out  of  ten  only  feel  the 
effect  of  a  room,  and  never  analyze  the  causes  from 
which  it  flows  :  they  know  that  certain  rooms  seem 
dull  and  heavy  and  confused,  but  they  don't  know 
why;  that  certain  others  seem  cheerful,  airy,  and 
beautiful,  but  they  know  not  why.  The  first  excla- 
mation, on  entering  John's  parlors,  was  so  often, 
"  How  beautiful ! "  that  it  became  rather  a  byword 
5  Q 


98  House  and  Home  Papers. 

in  the  family.  Estimated  by  their  mere  money-value, 
the  articles  in  the  rooms  were  of  very  ti  Ifling  worth ; 
but  as  they  stood  arranged  and  combined,  they  had 
all  the  effect  of  a  lovely  picture.  Although  the  statu- 
ary was  only  plaster,  and  the  photographs  and  litho- 
graphs such  as  were  all  within  the  compass  of  limited 
means,  yet  every  one  of  them  was  a  good  thing  of  its 
own  kind,  or  a  good  reminder  of  some  of  the  greatest 
works  of  Art.  A  good  plaster  cast  is  a  daguerrotype, 
so  to  speak,  of  a  great  statue,  though  it  may  be  bought 
for  five  or  six  dollars,  while  its  original  is  not  to  be 
had  for  any  namable  sum.  A  chromo-lithograph  of 
the  best  sort  gives  all  the  style  and  manner  and  effect 
of  Turner  or  Stanfield,  or  any  of  the  best  of  modern 
artists,  though  you  buy  it  for  five  or  ten  dollars,  and 
though  the  original  would  command  a  thousand  guin- 
eas. The  lithographs  from  Raphael's  immortal  pic- 
ture give  you  the  results  of  a  whole  age  of  artistic 
culture,  in  a  form  within  the  compass  of  very  humble 
means.  There  is  now  selling  for  five  dollars  at  Wil- 
liams and  Everett's  a  photograph  of  Cheney's  crayon 
drawing  of  the  San  Sisto  Madonna  and  Child,  which 
has  the  very  spirit  of  the  glorious  original.  Such  a 
picture,  hung  against  the  wall  of  a  child's  room,  would 
train  its  eye  from  infancy ;  and  yet  how  many  will 
freely  spend  five  dollars  in  embroidery  on  its  dress, 
that  say  they  cannot  afford  works  of  Art ! 


The  Economy  of  tlie  Beautiful.  99 

There  was  one  advantage  which  John  and  his  •  wife 
found  in  the  way  in  which  they  furnished  their  house, 
that  I  have  hinted  at  before  :  it  gave  freedom  to  their 
children.  Though  their  rooms  were  beautiful,  it  was 
not  with  the  tantalizing  beauty  of  expensive  and  frail 
knick-knacks.  Pictures  hung  against  the  wall,  and 
statuary  safely  lodged  on  brackets,  speak  constantly 
to  the  childish  eye,  but  are  out  of  the  reach  of  child- 
ish fingers,  and  are  not  upset  by  childish  romps.  They 
are  not  like  china  and  crystal,  liable  to  be  used  and 
abused  by  servants  j  they  do  not  wear  out ;  they  are 
not  spoiled  by  dust,  nor  consumed  by  moths.  The 
beauty  once  there  is  always  there ;  though  the  mother 
be  ill  and  in  her  chamber,  she  has  no  fears  that  she 
shall  find  it  all  wrecked  and  shattered.  And  this  style 
of  beauty,  inexpensive  as  it  is,  compared  with  luxu- 
rious furniture,  is  a  means  of  cultivation.  No  child 
is  ever  stimulated  to  draw  or  to  read  by  an  Axminster 
carpet  or  a  carved  centre-table  j  but  a  room  surrounded 
with  photographs  and  pictures  and  fine  casts  suggests 
a  thousand  inquiries,  stimulates  the  little  eye  and  hand. 
The  child  is  found  with  its  pencil,  drawing ;  or  he  asks 
for  a  book  on  Venice,  or  wants  to  hear  the  history  of 
the  Roman  Forum. 

But  I  have  made  my  article  too  long.  I  will  write 
another  on  the  moral  and  intellectual  effects  of  house- 
furnishing. 


IOO  House  and  Home  Papers. 

11 1  have  proved  my  point,  Miss  Jenny,  have  I  not  ? 
In  house-furnishing,  nothing  is  more  economical  than 
beauty." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  Jenny ;  "  I  give  it  up." 


V. 

RAKING    UP    THE    FIRE. 

WE  have  a  custom  at  our  house  which  we  call 
raking  tip  the  fire.  That  is  to  say,  the  last 
half-hour  before  bedtime,  we  draw  in,  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  around  the  last  brands  and  embers  of  our 
hearth,  which  we  prick  up  and  brighten,  and  dispose 
for  a  few  farewell  flickers  and  glimmers.  This  is  a 
grand  time  for  discussion.  Then  we  talk  over  parties, 
if  the  young  people  have  been  out  of  an  evening,  —  a 
book,  if  we  have  been  reading  one  ;  we  discuss  and 
analyze  characters,  —  give  our  views  on  all  subjects, 
aesthetic,  theological,  and  scientific,  in  a  way  most 
wonderful  to  hear ;  and,  in  fact,  we  sometimes  get  so 
engaged  in  our  discussions  that  every  spark  of  the  fire 
burns  out,  and  we  begin  to  feel  ourselves  shivering 
around  the  shoulders,  before  we  can  remember  that 
it  is  bedtime. 

So,  after  the  reading  of  my  last  article,  we  had  a 
"  raking-up  talk,"  —  to  wit,  Jenny,  Marianne,  and  I, 
with  Bob  Stephens  ;  —  my  wife,  still  busy  at  her  work- 
basket,  sat  at  the  table  a  little  behind  us.  Jenny,  of 


IO2  House  and  Home  Papers. 

iRirse,  opened  the  ball  in  her  usual  incisive  man- 
ner. 

"  But  now,  papa,  after  all  you  say  in  your  piece 
there,  I  cannot  help  feeling,  that,  if  I  had  the  taste 
and  the  money  too,  it  would  be  better  than  the  taste 
alone  with  no  money.  I  like  the  nice  arrangements 
and  the  books  and  the  drawings ;  but  I  think  all  these 
would  appear  better  still  with  really  elegant  furniture." 

"Who  doubts  that?"  said  I.  "Give  me  a  large 
tub  of  gold  coin  to  dip  into,  and  the  furnishing  «and 
beautifying  of  a  house  is  a  simple  affair.  The  same 
taste  that  could  make  beauty  out  of  cents  and  dimes 
could  make  it  more  abundantly  out  of  dollars  and 
eagles.  But  I  have  been  speaking  for  those  who  have 
not,  and  cannot  get,  riches,  and  who  wish  to  have 
agreeable  houses  ;  and  I  begin  in  the  outset  by  saying 
that  beauty  is  a  thing  to  be  respected,  reverenced,  and 
devoutly  cared  for,  —  and  then  I  say  that  BEAUTY  is 
CHEAP,  nay,  to  put  it  so  that  the  shrewdest  Yankee 
will  understand  it,  BEAUTY  is  THE  CHEAPEST  THING 
YOU  CAN  HAVE,  because  in  many  ways  it  is  a  substi- 
tute for  expense.  A  few  vases  of  flowers  in  a  room,  a 
few  blooming,  well-kept  plants,  a  few  prints  framed  in 
fanciful  frames  of  cheap  domestic  fabric,  a  statuette, 
a  bracket,  an  engraving,  a  pencil-sketch,  above  all,  a 
few  choice  books,  —  all  these  arranged  by  a  woman 
who  has  the  gift  in  her  finger-ends  often  produce  such 


Raking  up  the  Fire.  103 


an  illusion  on  the  mind's  eye  that  one  goes  away 
out  once  having  noticed  that  the  cushion  of  the  arm- 
chair was  worn  out,  and  that  some  veneering  had 
fallen  off  the  centre-table. 

"  I  have  a  friend,  a  schoolmistress,  who  lives  in 
a  poor  little  cottage  enough,  which,  let  alone  of  the 
Graces,  might  seem  mean  and  sordid,  but  a  few  flower- 
seeds  and  a  little  weeding  in  the  spring  make  it,  all 
summer,  an  object  which  everybody  stops  to  look  at. 
He*  aesthetic  soul  was  at  first  greatly  tried  with  the 
water-barrel  which  stood  under  the  eaves-spout,  —  a 
most  necessary  evil,  since  only  thus  could  her  scanty 
supply  of  soft  water  for  domestic  purposes  be  secured. 
One  of  the  Graces,  however,  suggested  to  her  a  happy 
thought.  She  planted  a  row  of  morning-glories  round- 
the  bottom  .of  her  barrel,  and  drove  a  row  of  tacks 
around  the  top,  and  strung  her  water-butt  with  twine, 
like  a  great  harpsichord.  A  few  weeks  covered  the 
twine  with  blossoming  plants,  which  every  morning 
were  a  mass  of  many-colored  airy  blooms,  waving  in 
graceful  sprays,  and  looking  at  themselves  in  the  water. 
The  water-barrel,  in  fact,  became  a  celebrated  stroke 
of  ornamental  gardening,  which  the  neighbors  came  to 
look  at." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Jenny,  "  everybody  has  n't  mam- 
ma's faculty  with  flowers.  Flowers  will  grow  for  some 
people,  and  for  some  they  won't.  Nobody  can  see 


IO4  House  and  Home  Papers. 

what  mamma  does  so  very  much,  but  her  plants  always 
look  fresh  and  thriving  and  healthy,  —  her  things  blos- 
som just  when  she  wants  them,  and  do  anything  else 
she  wishes  them  to ;  and  there  are  other  people  that 
fume  and  fuss  and  try,  and  their  things  won't  do  any- 
thing at  all.  There  's  Aunt  Easygo  has  plant  after 
plant  brought  from  the  greenhouse,  and  hanging-bas- 
kets, and  all  sorts  of  things  ;  but  her  plants  grow 
yellow  and  drop  their  leaves,  and  her  hanging-baskets 
get  dusty  and  poverty-stricken,  while  mamma's  g«  on 
flourishing  as  heart  could  desire." 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  your  mother  puts  into  her 
plants,"  said  I,  —  "just  what  she  has  put  into  her 
children,  and  all  her  other  home-things,  —  her  heart. 
•  She  loves  them  ;  she  lives  in  them  ;  she  has  in  herself 
a  plant-life  and  a  plant-sympathy.  She  feels  for  them 
as  if  she  herself  were  a  plant ;  she  anticipates  their 
wants,  —  always  remembers  them  without  an  effort, 
and  so  the  care  flows  to  them  daily  and  hourly.  She 
hardly  knows  \vhen  she  does  the  things  that  make 
them  grow,  —  but  she  gives  \hern  a  minute  a  hundred 
times  a  day.  She  moves  this  nearer  the  glass,  — draws 
that  back,  —  detects  some  thief  of  a  worm  on  one,  — 
digs  at  the  root  of  another,  to  see  why  it  droops,— 
washes  these  leaves,  and  sprinkles  those,  —  waters, 
and  refrains  from  watering,  all  with  the  habitual  care 
of  love.  Your  mother  herself  does  n't  know  why  her 


Raking  up  the  Fire.  105 


plants  grow  ;  it  takes  a  philosopher  and  a  writer 
the  'Atlantic'  to  tell  her  what  the  cause  is." 

Here  I  saw  my  wife  laughing  over  her  work-basket 
as  she  answered,  — 

"  Girls,  one  of  these  days,  /will  write  an  article  for 
the  '  Atlantic,'  that  your  papa  need  not  have  all  the 
say  to  himself  :  however,  I  believe  he  has  hit  the  nail 
on  the  head  this  time." 

"  Of  course  he  has,"  said  Marianne.  "  But,  mam- 
ma, I  am  afraid  to  begin  to  depend  much  on  plants 
for  the  beauty  of  my  rooms,  for  fear  I  should  not  have 
your  gift,  —  and  of  all  forlorn  and  hopeless  things  in 
a  room,  ill-kept  plants  are  the  most  so." 

"  I  would  not  recommend,"  said  I,  "  a  young  house- 
keeper, just  beginning,  to  rest  much  for  her  home 
ornament  on  plant-keeping,  unless  she  has  an  experi- 
ence of  her  own  love  and  talent  in  this  line,  which 
makes  her  sure  of  success  ;  for  plants  will  not  thrive, 
if  they  are  forgotten  or  overlooked,  and  only  tended 
in  occasional  intervals  ;  and,  as  Marianne  says,  neg- 
lected plants  are  the  most  forlorn  of  all  things." 

"But,  papa,"  said  Marianne,  anxiously,  "there,  in 
those  patent  parlors  of  John's  that  you  wrote  of, 
flowers  acted  a  great  part." 

"The  charm  of  those   parlors  of  John's  may  be 
chemically  analyzed,"  I   said.      "In   the  first  place, 
there  is  sunshine,  a  thing  that  always  affects  the  hu- 
5* 


io6  House  and  Home  Papers. 

man  nerves  of  happiness.  Why  else  is  it  that  people 
are  always  so  glad  to'  see  the  sun  after  a  long  storm  ? 
why  are  bright  days  matters  of  such  congratulation  ? 
Sunshine  fills  a  house  with  a  thousand  beautiful  and 
fanciful  effects  of  light  and  shade,  —  with  soft,  lumi- 
nous, reflected  radiances,  that  give  picturesque  effects 
to  the  pictures,  books,  statuettes  of  an  interior.  John, 
happily,  had  no  money  to  buy  brocatelle  curtains,  — 
and  besides  this,  he  loved  sunshine  too  much  to  buy 
them,  if  he  could.  He  had  been  enough  with  artists 
to  know  that  heavy  damask  curtains  darken  precisely 
that  part  of  the  window  where  the  light  proper  for 
pictures  and  statuary  should  come  in,  namely,  the  up- 
per part.  The  fashionable  system  of  curtains  lights 
only  the  legs  of  the  chairs  and  the  carpets,  and  leaves 
all  the  upper  portion  of  the  room  in  shadow.  John's 
windows  have  shades  which  can  at  pleasure  be  drawn 
down  from  the  top  or  up  from  the  bottom,  so  that  the 
best  light  to  be  had  may  always  be  arranged  for  his 
little  interior." 

"Well,  papa,"  said  Marianne,  "in  your  chemical 
analysis  of  John's  rooms,  what  is  the  next  thing  to 
the  sunshine?" 

"The  next,"  said  I,  "is  harmony  of  color.  The 
wall-paper,  the  furniture,  the  carpets,  are  of  tints  that 
harmonize  with  one  another.  This  is  a  grace  in 
rooms  always,  and  one  often  neglected.  The  French 


Raking  up  the  Fire.  107 

have  an  expressive  phrase  with  reference  to  articles 
which  are  out  of  accord,  —  they  say  that  they  swear 
at  each  other.  I  have  been  in  rooms  where  I  seemed 
to  hear  the  wall-paper  swearing  at  the  carpet,  and  the 
carpet  swearing  back  at  the  wall-paper,  and  each  ar- 
ticle of  furniture  swearing  at  the  rest.  These  appoint- 
ments may  all  of  them  be  of  the  most  expensive  kind, 
but  with  such  dis-harmony  no  arrangement  can  ever 
produce  anything  but  a  vulgar  and  disagreeable  effect. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  have  been  in  rooms  where  all 
the  material  was  cheap,  and  the  furniture  poor,  but 
where,  from  some  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  recip- 
rocal effect  of  colors,  everything  was  harmonious,  and 
produced  a  sense  of  elegance. 

"  I  recollect  once  travelling  on  a  Western  canal 
through  a  long  stretch  of  wilderness,  and  stopping  to 
spend  the  night  at  an  obscure  settlement  of  a  dozen 
houses.  We  were  directed  to  lodgings  in  a  common 
frame-house  at  a  little  distance,  where,  it  seemed,  the 
only  hotel  was  kept.  When  we  entered  the  parlor, 
we  were  struck  with  utter  amazement  at  its  prettiness, 
which  affected  us  before  we  began  to  ask  ourselves 
how  it  came  to  be  pretty.  It  was,  in  fact,  only  one 
of  the  miracles  of  harmonious  color  working  with 
very  simple  materials.  Some  woman  had  been  busy 
there,  who  had  both  eyes  and  fingers.  The  sofa,  the 
common  wooden  rocking-chairs,  and  some  ottomans, 


io8  House  and  Home  Papers. 

probably  made  of  old  soap-boxes,  were  all  covered 
with  American  nankeen  of  a  soft  yellowish-brown, 
with  a  bordering  of  blue  print.  The  window-shades, 
the  table-cover,  and  the  piano-cloth,  all  repeated  the 
same  colors,  in  the  same  cheap  material.  A  simple 
straw  matting  was  laid  over  the  floor,  and,  with  a  few 
books,  a  vase  of  flowers,  and  one  or  two  prints,  the 
room  had  a  home-like,  and  even  elegant  air,  that 
struck  us  all  the  more  forcibly  from  its  contrast  with 
the  usual  tawdry,  slovenly  style  of  such  parlors. 

"  The  means  used  for  getting  up  this  effect  were 
the  most  inexpensive  possible, —  simply  the  following- 
out,  in  cheap  material,  a  law  of  uniformity  and  har- 
mony, which  always  will  produce  beauty.  In  the 
same  manner,  I  have  seen  a  room  furnished,  whose 
effect  was  really  gorgeous  in  color,  where  the  only 
materials  used  were  Turkey-red  cotton  and  a  simple 
ingrain  carpet  of  corresponding  color. 

"  Now,  you  girls  have  been  busy  lately  in  schemes 
for  buying  a  velvet  carpet  for  the  new  parlor  that  is  to 
be,  and  the  only  points  that  have  seemed  to  weigh  in 
the  council  were  that  it  was  velvet,  that  it  was  cheaper 
than  velvets  usually  are,  and  that  it  was  a  genteel 
pattern." 

"  Now,  papa,"  said  Jenny,  "  what  ears  you  have ! 
We  thought  you  were  reading  all  the  time  ! " 

"  I  see  what  you  are  going  to  say,"  said  Marianne. 


Raking  up  the  Fire.  109 

"You  think  that  we  have  not  once  mentioned  the 
consideration  which  should  determine  the  carpet,  — 
whether  it  will  harmonize  with  our  other  things.  But, 
you  see,  papa,  we  don't  really  know  what  our  other 
things  are  to  be." 

"Yes,"  said  Jenny,  "and  Aunt  Easygo  said  it  was 
an  unusually  good  chance  to  get  a  velvet  carpet." 

"  Yet,  good  as  the  chance  is,  it  costs  just  twice  as 
much  as  an  ingrain." 

"  Yes,  papa,  it  does." 

"  And  you  are  not  sure  that  the  effect  of  it,  after 
you  get  it  down,  will  be  as  good  as  a  well-chosen  in- 
grain one."  » 

"  That 's  true,"  said  Marianne,  reflectively. 

"  But,  then,  papa,"  said  Jenny,  "  Aunt  Easygo  said 
she  never  heard  of  such  a  bargain ;  only  think,  two 
dollars  a  yard  for  a  velvet!" 

"  And  why  is  it  two  dollars  a  yard  ?  Is  the  man  a 
personal  friend,  that  he  wishes  to  make'  you  a  present 
of  a  dollar  on  the  yard  ?  or  is  there  some  reason  why 
it  is  undesirable  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Well,  you  know,  papa,  he  said  those  large  patterns 
were  not  so  salable." 

"  To  *tell  the  truth,"  said  Marianne,  "  I  never  did 
like  the  pattern  exactly ;  as  to  uniformity  of  tint,  it 
might  match  with  anything,  for  there  's  every  color  of 
the  rainbow  in  it." 


HO  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  You  see,  papa,  it 's  a  gorgeous  flower-pattern," 
said  Jenny. 

"  Well,  Marianne,  how  many  yards  of  this  wonder- 
fully cheap  carpet  do  you  want  ? " 

"  We  want  sixty  yards  for  both  rooms,"  said  Jenny, 
always  primed  with  statistics. 

"That  will  be  a  hundred  and  twenty  dollars,"  I 
said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jenny  ;  "  and  we  went  over  the  figures 
together,  and  thought  we  could  make  it  out  by  econo- 
mizing in  other  things.  Aunt  Easygo  said  that  the 
carpet  was  half  the  battle,  —  that  it  gave  the  air  to 
everything  else."  . 

"  Well,  Marianne,  if  you  want  a  man's  advice  in  the 
case,  mine  is  at  your  service." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  want,  papa." 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear,  choose  your  wall-papers  and 
borderings,  and,  when  they  are  up,  choose  an  ingrain 
carpet  to  harnionize  with  them,  and  adapt  your  furni- 
ture to  the  same  idea.  The  sixty  dollars  that  you 
save  on  your  carpet  spend  on  engravings,  chromo- 
lithographs, or  photographs  of  some  really  good  works 
of  Art,  to  adorn  your  walls." 

"  Papa,  I  '11  do  it,"  said  Marianne. 

"  My  little  dear,"  said  I,  "  your  papa  may  seem 
to  be  a  sleepy  old  book-worm,  yet  he  has  his  eyes 
open.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  why  my  girls 


Raking  up  the  Fire.  1 1 1 

have  the  credit  of  being  the  best-dressed  girls  on 
the  street?" 

"  O  papa  !  "  cried  out  both  girls  in  a  breath. 

"  Fact,  that !  "  said  Bob,  with  energy,  pulling  at  his 
mustache.  "  Everybody  talks  about  your  dress,  and 
wonders  how  you  make  it  out." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  presume  you  do  not  go  into  a 
shop  and  buy  a  yard  of  ribbon  because  it  is  selling  at 
half-price,  and  put  it  on  without  considering  complex- 
ion, eyes,  hair,  and  shade  of  the  dress,  do  you  ? " 

"  Of  course  we  don't !  "  chimed  in  the  duo,  with 
energy. 

"  Of  course  you  don't.  Have  n't  I  seen  you  min- 
cing down-stairs,  with  all  your  colors  harmonized, 
even  to  your  gloves  and  gaiters  ?  Now,  a  room  must 
be  dressed  as  carefully  as  a  lady." 

"  Well,  I  'm  convinced,"  said  Jenny,  "  that  papa 
knows  how  to  make  rooms  prettier  than  Aunt  Easygo ; 
but  then  she  said  this  was  cheap,  because  it  would  out- 
last two  common  carpets." 

"  But,  as  you  pay  double  price,"  said  I,  "  I  don't 
see  that.  Besides,  I  would  rather,  in  the  course  of 
twenty  years,  have  two  nice,  fresh  ingrain  carpets,  of 
just  the  color  and  pattern  that  suited  my  rooms,  than 
labor  along  with  one  ill-chosen  velvet  that  harmonized 
with  nothing." 

"  I  give  it  up,"  said  Jenny  ;  "  I  give  it  up." 


w  1 1 2  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  Now,  understand  me,"  said  I ;  "  I  am  not  tra- 
ducing velvet  or  Brussels  or  Axminster.  I  admit  that 
more  beautiful  effects  can  be  found  in  those  goods  than 
in  the  humbler  fabrics  of  the  carpet-rooms.  Nothing 
would  delight  me  more  than  to  put  an  unlimited  credit 

% 

to  Marianne's  account,  and  let  her  work  out  the  prob- 
lems of  harmonious  color  in  velvet  and  damask.  All 
I  have  to  say  is,  that  certain  unities  of  color,  certain 
general  arrangements,  will  secure  very  nearly  as  good 
general  effects  in  either  material.  A  library  with  a 
neat,  mossy  green  carpet  on  the  floor,  harmonizing 
with  wall-paper  and  furniture,  looks  generally  as  well, 
whether  the  mossy  green  is  made  in  Brussels  or  in 
ingrain.  In  the  carpet-stores,  these  two  materials 
stand  side  by  side  in  the  very  same  pattern,  and  one 
is  often  as  good  for  the  purpose  as  the  other.  A  lady 
of  my  acquaintance,  some  years  since,  employed  an 
artist  to  decorate  her  parlors.  The  walls  being  fres- 
coed and  tinted  to  suit  his  ideal,  he  immediately 
issued  his  decree  that  her  splendid  velvet  carpets 
must  be  sent  to  auction,  and  others  bought  of  certain 
colors,  harmonizing  with  the  walls.  Unable  to  find 
exactly  the  color  and  pattern  he  wanted,  he  at  last 
had  the  carpets  woven  in  a  neighboring  factory,  where, 
as  yet,  they  had  only  the  art  of  weaving  ingrains. 
Thus  was  the  material  sacrificed  at  once  to  the  har- 
monv." 


Raking  up  the  Fire.  113 

I  remarked,  in  passing,  that  this  was  before  Bige- 
low's  mechanical  genius  had  unlocked  for  America  the 
higher  secrets  of  carpet-weaving,  and  If^ade  it  possible 
to  have  one's  desires  accomplished  in  Brussels  or  vel- 
vet. In  those  days,  English  carpet-weavers  did  not 
send  to  America  for  their  looms,  as  they  now  do. 

"  But  now  to  return  to  my  analysis  of  John's  rooms. 

"Another  thing  which  goes  a  great  way  towards 
giving  them  their  agreeable  air  is  the  books  in  them. 
Some  people  are  fond  of  treating  books  as  others  do 
children.  One  room  in  the  house  is  selected,  and 
every  book  driven  into  it  and  kept  there.  Yet  nothing 
makes  a  room  so  home-like,  so  companionable,  and 
gives  it  such  an  air  of  refinement,  as  the  presence  of 
books.  They  change  the  aspect  of  a  parlor  from  that 
of  a  mere  reception-room,  where  visitors  perch  for  a 
transient  call,  and  give  it  the  air  of  a  room  where  one 
feels  like  taking  off  one's  things  to  stay.  It  gives  the 
appearance  of  permanence  and  repose  and  quiet  fel- 
lowship ;  and  next  to  pictures  on  the  walls,  the  many- 
colored  bindings  and  gildings  of  books  are  the  most 
agreeable  adornment  of  a  room." 

"  Then,  Marianne,"  said  Bob,  "  we  have  something 
to  start  with,  at  all  events.  There  are  my  English 
Classics  and  English  Poets,  and  my  uniform  editions 
of  Scott  and  Thackeray  and  Macaulay  and  Prescott 
and  Irving  and  Longfellow  and  Lowell  and  Hawthorne 


114  Hotise  and  Home  Papers. 

and  Holmes  and  a  host  more.  We  really  have  some- 
thing pretty  there." 

"  You  are  a  lucky  girl,"  I  said,  "  to  have  so  much 
secured.  A  girl  brought  up  in  a  house  full  of  books, 
always  able  to  turn  to  this  or  that  author  and  look  for 
any  passage  or  poem  when  she  thinks  of  it,  does  n't 
know  what  a  blank  a  house  without  books  might  be." 

"  Well,"  said  Marianne,  "  mamma  and  I  were  count- 
ing over  my  treasures  the  other  day.  Do  you  know,  I 
have  one  really  fine  old  engraving,  that  Bob  says  is 
quite  a  genuine  thing ;  and  then  there  is  that  pencil- 
sketch  that  poor  Schone  made  for  me  the  month 
before  he  died,  —  it  is  truly  artistic." 

"And  I  have  a  couple  of  capital  things  of  Land- 
seer's,"  said  Bob. 

"  There  's  no  danger  that  your  rooms  will  not  be 
pretty,"  said  I,  "  now  you  are  fairly  on  the  right  track." 

"  But,  papa,"  said  Marianne,  "  I  am  troubled  about 
one  thing.  My  love  of  beauty  runs  into  everything. 
I  want  pretty  things  for  my  table,  —  and  yet,  as  you 
say,  servants  are  so  careless,  one  cannot  use  such 
things  freely  without  great  waste." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  my  wife,  "  I  believe  in  best 
china,  to  be  kept  carefully  on  an  upper-shelf,  and  taken 
down  for  high-days  and  holidays  ;  it  may  be  a  super- 
stition, but  I  believe  in  it.  It  must  never  be  taken 
out  except  when  the  mistress  herself  can  see  that  it  is 


Raking  up  the  Fire.  115 

safely  cared  for.  My  mother  always  washed  her  china 
herself ;  and  it  was  a  very  pretty  social  ceremony, 
after  tea  was  over,  while  she  sat  among  us  washing 
her  pretty  cups,  and  wiping  them  on  a  fine  damask 
towel." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  I ;  "  have  your  best  china, 
and  venerate  it,  —  it  is  one  of  the  loveliest  of  domestic 
superstitions  ;  only  do  not  make  it  a  bar  to  hospitality, 
and  shrink  from  having  a  friend  to  tea  with  you,  unless 
you  feel  equaf  to  getting  up  to  the  high  shelf  where 
you  keep  it,  getting  it  down,  washing,  and  putting  it 
up  again. 

"  But  in  serving  a  table,  I  say,  as  I  said  of  a  house, 
beauty  is  a  necessity,  and  beauty  is  cheap.  Because 
you  cannot  afford  beauty  in  one  form,  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  you  cannot  have  it  in  another.  Because  one 
cannot  afford  to  keep  up  a  perennial  supply  of  delicate 
china  and  crystal,  subject  to  the  accidents  of  raw, 
untrained  servants,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  every- 
day table  need  present  a  sordid  assortment  of  articles 
chosen  simply  for  cheapness,  while  t|ie  whole  capacity 
of  the  purse  is  given  to  the  set  forever  locked  away 
for  state-occasions. 

"A  table-service,  all  of  simple  white,  of  graceful 
forms,  even  though  not  of  china,  if  arranged  with  care, 
with  snowy,  well-kept  table-linen,  clear  glasses,  and 
bright  American  plate  in  place  of  solid  silver,  may  be 


n6  House  and  Home  Papers. 

made  to  look  inviting  ;  add  a  glass  of  flowers  every 
day,  and  your  table  may  look  pretty ;  —  and  it  is  far 
more  important  that  it  should  look  pretty  for  the 
family  every  day  than  for  company  once  in  two 
weeks." 

"  I  tell  my  girls,"  said  my  wife,  "  as  the  result  of 
my  experience,  you  may  have  your  pretty  china  and 
your  lovely  fanciful  articles  for  the  table  only  so  long 
as  you  can  take  all  the  care  of  them  yourselves.  As 
soon  as  you  get  tired  of  doing  this,  anS  put  them  into 
the  hands  of  the  trustiest  servants,  some  good,  well- 
meaning  creature  is  sure  to  break  her*  heart  and  your 
own  and  your  very  pet  darling  china  pitcher  all  in  one 
and  the  same  minute ;  and  then  her  frantic  despair 
leaves  you  not  even  the  relief  of  scolding." 

"  I  have  become  perfectly  sure,"  said  I,  "  that  there 
are  spiteful  little  brownies,  intent  on  seducing  good 
women  to  sin,  who  mount  guard  over  the  special  idols 
of  the  china-closet.  If  you  hear  a  crash,  and  a  loud 
Irish  wail  from  the  inner  depths,  you  never  think 
of  its  being  a  yellow  pie-plate,  or  that  dreadful  one- 
handled  tureen  that  you  have  been  wishing  were 
broken  these  five  years  ;  no,  indeed,  —  it  is  sure  to 
be  the  lovely  painted  china  bowl,  wreathed  with  morn- 
ing-glories and  sweet-peas,  or  the  engraved  glass  gob- 
let, with  quaint  old-English  initials.  China  sacrificed 
must  be  a  great  means  of  saintship  to  women.  Pope, 


Raking  up  the  Fire.  117 

I  think,  puts  it  as  the  crowning  grace  of  his  perfect 
woman,  that  she  is 

'Mistress  of  herself,  though  china  fall.'" 

"  I  ought  to  be  a  saint  by  this  time,  then,"  said 
mamma;  "for  in  the  course  of  my  days  I  have  lost 
so  many  idols  by  breakage,  and  peculiar  accidents  that 
seemed  by  a  special  fatality  to  befall  my  prettiest  and 
most  irreplaceable  things,  that  in  fact  it  has  come  to 
be  a  superstitious  feeling  now  with  which  I  regard 
anything  particularly  pretty  of  a  breakable  nature." 

"Well,"  said  Marianne,  "unless  one  has  a  great 
deal  of  money,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  investment  in 
these  pretty  fragilities  is  rather  a  poor  one." 

"  Yet,"  said  I,  "  the  principle  of  beauty  is  never  so 
captivating  as  when  it  presides  over  the  hour  of  daily 
meals.  I  would  have  the  room  where  they  are  served 
one  of  the  pleasantest  and  sunniest  in  the  house.  I 
would  have  its  coloring  cheerful,  and  there  should  be 
companionable  pictures  and  engravings  on  the  walls. 
Of  all  things,  I  dislike  a  room  that  seems  to  be  kept 
like  a  restaurant,  merely  to  eat  in.  I  like  to  see  in  a 
dining-room  something  that  betokens  a  pleasant  sit- 
ting-room at  other  hours.  I  like  there  some  books,  a 
comfortable  sofa  or  lounge,  and  all  that  should  make 
it  cosey  and  inviting.  The  custom  in  some  families, 
of  adoping  for  the  daily  meals  one  of  the  two  parlors 


n8  House  and  Home  Papers. 

which  a  city-house  furnishes  has  often  seemed  to  me 
a  particularly  happy  one.  You  take  your  meals,  then, 
in  an  agreeable  place,  surrounded  by  the  little  pleas- 
ant arrangements  of  your  daily  sitting-room  ;  and  after 
the  meal,  if  the  lady  of  the  house  does  the  honors  of 
her  own  pretty  china  herself,  the  office  may  be  a  pleas- 
•  ant  and  social  one. 

"But  in  regard  to  your  table-service  I  have  my 
advice  at  hand.  Invest  in  pretty  table-linen,  in  deli- 
cate napkins,  have  your  vase  of  flowers,  and  be  guided 
by  the  eye  of  taste  in  the  choice  and  arrangement  of 
*even  the  every-day  table-articles,  and  have  no  ugly 
things  when  you  can  have  pretty  ones  by  taking  a 
little  thought.  If  you  are  sore  tempted  with  lovely 
china  and  crystal,  too  fragile  to  last,  toe  expensive  to 
be  renewed,  turn  away  to  a  print-shop  and  comfort 
yourself  by  hanging  around  the  walls  of  your  dining- 
room  beauty  that  will  not  break  or  fade,  that  will  meet 
your  eye  from  year  to  year,  though  plates,  tumblers, 
and  tea-sets  successively  vanish.  There  is  my  advice 
for  you,  Marianne." 

At  the  same  time,  let  me  say,  in  parenthesis,  that 
my  wife,  whose  weakness  is  china,  informed  me  that  . 
night,  when  we  were  by  ourselves,  that  she  was  order- 
ing secretly  a  tea-set  as  a  bridal  gift  for  Marianne, 
every  cup  of  which  was  to  be  exquisitely  painted  with 
the  wild-flowers  of  America,  from  designs  of  her  own, 


Raking  lip  the  Fire.  119 

• —  a  thing,  by  the  by,  that  can  now  be  very  nicely  exe- 
cuted in  our  country,  as  one  may  find  by  looking  in  at 
our  friend  Briggs's  on  School  Street.  "  It  will  last  her 
all  her  life,"  she  said,  "  and  always  be-  such  a  pleasure 
to  look  at,  —  and  a  pretty  tea-table  is  such  a  pretty 
sight ! "  So  spoke  Mrs.  Crowfield,  "  unweaned  from 
china  by  a  thousand  falls."  She  spoke  even  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.  Verily,  these  women  are  harps  of  a  thou- 
sand strings  ! 

But  to  return  to  my  subject. 

"  Finally  and  lastly,"  I  said,  "  in  my  analysis  and 
explication  of  the  agreeableness  of  those  same  parlors, 
comes  the  crowning  grace,  —  their  homeliness.  By 
homeliness  I  mean  not  ugliness,  as  the  word  is  apt  to 
be  used,  but  the  air  that  is  given  to  a  room  by  being 
really  at  home  in  it.  Not  the  most  skilful  arrange- 
ment can  impart  this  charm. 

"  It  is  said  that  a  king  of  France  once  remarked, — 
'  My  son,  you  must  seem  to  love  your  people.' 

"  '  Father,  how  shall  I  seem  to  love  them  ? ' 

"  '  My  son,  you  must  love  them.' 

"  So  to  make  rooms  seem  home-like  you  must  be  at 
home  in  them.  Human  light  and  warmth  are  so  want- 
ing in  some  rooms,  it  is  so  evident  that  they  are  never 
used,  that  you  can  never  be  at  ease  there.  In  vain 
the  house-maid  is  taught  to  wheel  the  sofa  and  turn 
chair  towards  chair ;  in  vain  it  is  attempted  to  imitate 
a  negligent  arrangement  of  the  centre-table. 


I2O  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  Books  that  have  really  been  read  and  laid  down, 
chairs  that  have  really  been  moved  here'  and  there  in 
the  animation  of  social  contact,  have  a  sort  of  human 
vitality  in  them  ;  and  a  room  in  which  people  really 
live  and  enjoy  is  as  different  from  a  shut-up  apartment 
as  a  live  woman  from  a  wax  image. 

"  Even  rooms  furnished  without  taste  often  become 
charming  from  this  one  grace,  that  they  seem  to  let 
you  into  the  home-life  and  home-current.  You  seem 
to  understand  in  a  moment  that  you  are  taken  into 
the  family,  and  are  moving  in  its  inner  circles,  and 
not  revolving  at  a  distance  in  some  outer  court  of  the 
gentiles. 

"  How  many  people  do  we  call  on  from  year  to  year 
and  know  no  more  of  their  feelings,  habits,  tastes, 
family  ideas  and  ways,  than  if  they  lived  in  Kamtschat- 
ka  !  And  why  ?  Because  the  room  which  they  call  a 
front-parlor  is  made  expressly  so  that  you  never  shall 
know.  They  sit  in  a  back-room,  —  work,  talk,  read, 
perhaps.  After  the  servant  has  let  you  in  and  opened 
a  crack  of  the  shutters,  and  while  you  sit  waiting  for 
them  to  change  their  dress  and  come  in,  you  speculate 
as  to  what  they  may  be  doing.  From  some  distant 
region,  the  laugh  of  a  child,  the  song  of  a  canary-bird, 
reaches  you,  and  then  a  door  claps  hastily  to.  Do 
they  love  plants  ?  Do  they  write  letters,  sew,  em- 
broider, crochet  ?  Do  they  ever  romp  and  frolic  ? 


Raking  up  the" Fire.  12 1 

What  books  do  they  read  ?  Do  they  sketch  01*  paint  ? 
Of  all  these  possibilities  the  mute  and  muffled  room 
says  nothing.  A  sofa  and  six  chairs,  two  ottomans 
fresh  from  the  upholsterer's,  a  Brussels  carpet,  a  cen- 
tre-table with  four  gilt  Books  of  Beauty  on  it,  a  mantel- 
clock  from  Paris,  and  two  bronze  vases,  —  all  these 
tell  you  only  in  frigid  tones,  '  This  is  the  best  room,' 
—  only  that,  and  nothing  more,  —  and  soon  she  trips 
in  in  her  best  clothes,  and  apologizes  for  keeping  you 
waiting,  asks  how  your  mother  is,  and  you  remark  that 
it  is  a  pleasant  day,  —  and  thus  the  acquaintance  pro- 
gresses from  year  to  year.  One  hour  in  the  little  back- 
room, where  the  plants  and  canary-bird  and  children 
are,  might  have  made  you  fast  friends  for  life  ;  but  as 
it  is,  you  care  no  more  for  them  than  for  the  gilt  clock 
on  the  mantel. 

"And  now,  girls,"  said  I,  pulling  a  paper  out  of  my 
pocket,  "  you  must  know  that  your  father  is  getting 
to  be  famous  by  means  of  these  *  House  and  Home 
Papers.'  Here  is  a  letter  I  have  just  received  :  — 

"  *  MOST  EXCELLENT  MR.  CROWFIELD,  —  Your 
thoughts  have  lighted  into  our  family-circle,  and 
echoed  from  our  fireside.  We  all  feel  the  force  of 
them,  and  are  delighted  with  the  felicity  of  your  treat- 
ment of  the  topic  you  have  chosen.  You  have  taken 
hold  of  a  subject  that  lies  deep  in  our  hearts,  in  a 
6 


122  House  and  Home  Papers. 

genial,  temperate,  and  convincing  spirit.  All  must 
acknowledge  the  power  of  your  sentiments  upon  their 
imaginations  ;  —  if. they  could  only  trust  to  them  in 
actual  life  !  There  is  the  rub. 

"  '  Omitting  further  upon  these  points,  there  is  a 
special  feature  of  your  articles  upon  which  we  wish 
to  address  you.  You  seem  as  yet  (we  do  not  know, 
of  course,  what  you  may  hereafter  do)  to  .speak  only 
of  homes  whose  conduct  depends  upon  the  help  of 
servants.  Now  your  principles  apply,  as  some  of  us 
well  conceive,  to  nearly  all  classes  of  society ;  yet 
most  people,  to  take  an  impressive  hint,  must  have 
their  portraits  drawn  out  more  exactly.  We  therefore 
hope  that  you  will  give  a  reasonable  share  of  your 
attention  to  us  who  do  not  employ  servants,  so  that 
you  may  ease  us  of  some  of  our  burdens,  which,  in 
spite  of  common  sense,  we  dare  not  throw  off.  For 
instance,  we  have  company, — a  friend  from  afar,  (per- 
haps wealthy,)  or  a  minister,  or  some  other  man  of 
note.  What  do  we  do  ?  Sit  down  and  receive  our 
visitor  with  all  good-will  and  the  freedom  of  a  home  ? 
No  ;  we  (the  lady  of  the  house)  flutter  about  to  clear 
up  things,  apologizing  about  this,  that,  and  the  other- 
condition  of  unpreparedness,  and,  having  settled  the 
visitor  in  the  parlor,  set  about  marshalling  the  ele- 
ments of  a-  grand  dinner  or  supper,  such  as  no  person 
but  a  gourmand  wants  to  sit  down  to,  when  at  home 


Raking  tip  the  Fire.  123 

and  comfortable ;  and  in  getting  up  this  meal,  clearing 
away,  and  washing  the  dishes,  we  use  up  a  goo<J  half 
of  the  time  which  our  guest  spends  with  us.  We  have 
spread  ourselves,  and  shown  him  what  we  could  do ; 
but  what  a  paltry,  heart-sickening  achievement !  Now, 
good  Mr.  Crowfield,  thou  friend  of  the  robbed  and 
despairing,  wilt  thou  not  descend  into  our  purgatorial 
circle,  and  tell  the  world  what  thou  hast  seen  there  of 
doleful  remembrance  ?  Tell  us  how  we,  who  must  do 
and  desire  to  do  our  own  work,  can  show  forth  in  our 
homes  a  homely,  yet  genial  hospitality,  and  entertain 
our  guests  without  making  a  fuss  and  hurly-burly,  and 
seeming  to  be  anxious  for  their  sake  about  many 
things,  and  spending  too  much  time  getting  meals, 
as  if  eating  were  the  chief  social  pleasure.  Won't  you 
do  this,  Mr.  Crowfield  ? 

"  '  Yours  beseechingly, 

"<R.  H.  A.'" 

" That's  a  good  letter,"  said  Jenny. 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,"  said  I. 

"  And  shall  you  answer  it,  papa  ? " 

"  In  the  very  next  '  Atlantic/  you  may  be  sure  I 
shall.  The  class  that  do  their  own  work  are  the 
strongest,  the  most  numerous,  and,  taking  one  thing 
with  another,  quite  as  well  cultivated  a  class  as  any 
other.  They  are  the  anomaly  of  our  country,  —  the 


124  House  and  Home  Papers. 

distinctive  feature  of  the  new  society  that  we  are 
building  up  here ;  and  if  we  are  to  accomplish  our 
national  destiny,  that  class  must  increase  rather  than 
diminish.  I  shall  certainly  do  my  best  to  answer  the 
very  sensible  and  pregnant  questions  of  that  letter." 

Here  Marianne  shivered  and  drew  up  a  shawl,  and 
Jenny  gaped ;  my  wife  folded  up  the  garment  in 
which  she  had  set  the  last  stitch,  and  the  clock 
struck  twelve. 

Bob  gave  a  low  whistle.  "Who  knew  it  was  so 
late  ? " 

"  We  have  talked  the  fire  fairly  out,"  said  Jenny. 


VI. 

THE  LADY  WHO  DOES  HER  OWN  WORK. 

"TV  /TY  dear  Chris,"  said  my  wife,  "isn't  it  time 
•iV  J.    to  be  writing  the  next  (  House  and  Home 
Paper'?" 

I  was  lying  back  in  my  study-chair,  with  my  heels 
luxuriously  propped  on  an  ottoman,  reading  for  the 
two-hundredth  time  Hawthorne's  "  Mosses  from  an 
Old  Manse,"  or  his  "Twice-Told  Tales,"  I  forget 
which,  —  I  only  know  that  these  books  constitute 
my  cloud-land,  where  I  love  to  sail  away  in  dreamy 
quietude,  forgetting  the  war,  the  price  of  coal  and 
flour,  the  rates  of  exchange,  and  the  rise  and  fall  of 
gold.  What  do  all  these  things  matter,  as  seen  from 
those  enchanted  gardens  in  Padua  where  the  weird 
Rappaccini  tends  his  enchanted  plants,  and  his  gor- 
geous daughter  fills  us  with  the  light  and  magic  of 
her  presence,  and  saddens  us  with  the  shadowy  alle- 
goric mystery  of  her  preternatural  destiny  ?  But  my 
wife  represents  the  positive  forces  of  time,  place,  and 
number  in  our  family,  and,  having  also  a  chronologi- 
cal head,  she  knows  the  day  of  the  month,  and  there- 


126  House  and  Home  Papers. 

fore  gently  reminded  me  that  by  inevitable  dates  the 
time  drew  near  for  preparing  my  —  which  is  it  now; 
May  or  June  number  ? 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  are  right,"  I  said,  as  by  an  ex- 
ertion I  came  head-uppermost,  and  laid  down  the 
fascinating  volume.  "  Let  me  see,  what  was  I  to 
write  about  ? " 

"  Why,  you  remember  you  were  to  answer  that  let- 
ter from  the  lady  who  does  her  own  work." 

"  Enough  !  "  said  I,  seizing  the  pen  with  alacrity ; 
"you  have  hit  the  exact  phrase  :  — 

"  '  The  lady  who  does  her  own  work!  " 

America  is  the  only  country  where  such  a  title  is 
possible,  —  the  only  country  where  there  is  a  class  of 
women  who  may  be  described  as  ladies  who  do  their 
own  work.  By  a  lady  we  mean  a  woman  of  educa- 
tion, cultivation,  and  refinement,  of  liberal  tastes  and 
ideas,  who,  without  any  very  material  additions  or 
changes,  would  be  recognized  as  a  lady  in  any  circle 
of  the  Old  World  or  the  New. 

What  I  have  said  is,  that  the  existence  of  such  a 
class  is  a  fact  peculiar  to  American  society,  a  clear, 
plain  result  of  the  new  principles  involved  in  the  doc- 
trine of*  universal  equality. 

When  the  colonists  first  came  to  this  country,  of 
however  mixed  ingredients  their  ranks  might  have 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own   Work.      127 

been  composed,  and  however  imbued  with  the  spirit 
of  feudal  and  aristocratic  ideas,  the  discipline  of  the 
wilderness  soon  brought  them  to  a  democratic  level ; 
the  gentleman  felled  the  wood  for  his  log-cabin  side 
by  side  with  the  ploughman,  and  thews  and  sinews 
rose  in  the  market.  "  A  man  was  deemed  honorable 
in  proportion  as  he  lifted  his  hand  upon  the  high 
trees  of  the  forest."  So  in  the  interior  domestic 
circle.  Mistress  and  maid,  living  in  a  log-cabin  to- 
gether, became  companions,  and  sometimes  the  maid, 
as  the  more  accomplished  and  stronger,  took  prece- 
dence of  the  mistress.  It  became  natural  and  un- 
avoidable that  children  should  begin  to  work  as  early 
as  they  were  capable  of  it.  The  result  was  a  genera- 
tion of  intelligent  people  brought  up  to  labor  from 
necessity,  but  turning  on  the  problem  of  labor  the 
acuteness  of  a  disciplined  brain.  The  mistress,  out- 
done in  sinews  and  muscles  by  her  maid,  kept  her 
superiority  by  skill  and  contrivance.  If  she  could 
not  lift  a  pail  of  water,  she  could  invent  methods 
which  made  lifting  the  pail  unnecessary,  —  if  she 
could  not  take  a  hundred  steps  without  weariness, 
she  could  make  twenty  answer  the  purpose  of  a  hun- 
dred. 

Slavery,  it  is  true,  was  to  some  extent  introduced 
into  New  England,  but  it  never  suited  the  genius  of 
the  people,  never  struck  deep  root,  or  spread  so  as  to 


128  House  and  Home  Papers. 

choke  the  good  seed  of  self-helpfulness.  Many  were 
opposed  to  it  from  conscientious  principle,  —  many 
from  far-sighted  thrift,  and  from  a  love  of  thorough- 
ness and  well-doing  which  despised  the  rude,  un- 
skilled work  of  barbarians.  People,  having  once  felt 
the  thorough  neatness  and  beauty  of  execution  which 
came  of  free,  educated,  and  thoughtful  labor,  could 
not  tolerate  the  clumsiness  of  slavery.  Thus  it  came 
to  pass  that  for  many  years  the  rural  population  of 
New  England,  as  a  general  rule,  did  their  own  work, 
both  out  doors-  and  in.  If  there  were  a  black  man  or 
black  woman  or  bound  girl,  they  were  emphatically 
only  the  helps,  following  humbly  the  steps  of  master 
and  mistress,  and  used  by  them  as  instruments  of 
lightening  certain  portions  of  their  toil.  The  mas- 
ter and  mistress  with  their  children  were  the  head 
workers. 

Great  merriment  has  been  excited  in  the  Old  Coun- 
try, because  years  ago  the  first  English  travellers 
found  that  the  class  of  persons  by  them  denominated 
servants  were  in  America  denominated  help  or  help- 
ers. But  the  term  was  the  very  best  exponent  of  the 
state  of  society.  There  were  few  servants,  in  the 
European  sense  of  the  word ;  there  was  a  society  of 
educated  workers,  where  all  were  practically  equal, 
and  where,  if  there  was  a  deficiency  in  one  family 
and  an  excess  in  another,  a  helper,  not  a  servant,  was 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.       129 

hired.  Mrs.  Browne,  who  has  six  sons  and  no  daugh- 
ters, enters  into  .agreement  with  Mrs.  Jones,  who  has 
six  daughters  and  no  sons.  She  borrows  a  daughter, 
and  pays  her  good  wages  to  help  in  her  domestic  toil, 
and  sends  a  son  to  help  the  labors  of  Mr.  Jones. 
These  two  young  people  go  into  the  families  in  which 
they  are  to  be  employed  in  all  respects  as  equals  and 
companions,  and  so  the  work  of  the  community  is 
equalized.  Hence  arose,  and  for  many,  years  con- 
tinued, a  state  of  society  more  nearly  solving  than 
any  other  ever  did  the  problem  of  combining  the 
highest  culture  of  the  mind  with  the  highest  culture 
of  the  muscles  and  the  physical  faculties. 

Then  were  to  be  seen  families  of  daughters,  hand- 
some, strong  females,  rising  each  day  to  their  in-door 
work  with  cheerful  alertness,  —  one  to  sweep  the 
room,  another  to  make  the  fire,  while  a  third  prepared 
the  breakfast  for  ^he  father  and  brothers  who  were 
going  out  to  manly  labor;  and  they  chatted  mean- 
while of  books,  studies,  embroidery,  discussed  the  last 
new  poem,  or  some  historical  topic  started  by  graver 
reading,  or  perhaps  a  rural  ball  that  was  to  come  off 
the  next  week.  They  spun  with  the  book  tied  to 
the  distaff ;  they  wove  ;  they  did  all  manner  of  fine 
needlework ;  they  made  lace,  painted  flowers,  and,  in 
short,  in  the  boundless  consciousness  of  activity,  in- 
vention, and  perfect  health,  set  themselves  to  any 


130  House  and  Home  Papers. 

work  they  had  ever  read  or  thought  of.  A  bride  in 
those  days  was  married  with  sheets,  and  table-cloths 
of  her  own  weaving,  with  counterpanes  and  toilet- 
covers  wrought  in  divers  embroidery  by  her  own  and 
her  sisters'  hands.  The  amount  of  fancy-work  done 
in  our  days  by  girls  who  have  nothing  else  to  do  will 
not  equal  what  was  done  by  these,  who  performed  be- 
sides, among  them,  the  whole  work  of  the  family. 

For  many  years  these  habits  of  life  characterized 
the  majority  of  our  rural  towns.  They  still  exist 
among  a  class  respectable  in  numbers  and  position, 
though  perhaps  not  as  happy  in  perfect  self-satisfac- 
tion and  a  conviction  of  the  dignity  and  desirableness 
of  its  lot  as  in  former  days.  Human  nature  is  above 
all  things  —  lazy.  Every  one  confesses  in  the  ab- 
stract that  exertion  which  brings  out  all  the  powers 
of  body  and  mind  is  the  best  thing  for  us  all ;  but 
practically  most  people  do  all  they  can  to  get  rid  of 
it,  and  as  a  general  rule  nobody  does  much  more  than 
circumstances  drive  him  to  do.  Even  I  would  not 
write  this  article,  were  not  the  publication-day  hard 
on  my  heels.  I  should  read  Hawthorne  and  Emer- 
son and  Holmes,  and  dream  in  my  arm-chair,  and 
project  in  the  clouds  those  lovely  unwritten  stories 
that  curl  and  veer  and  change  like  mist-wreaths  in  the 
sun.  So,  also,  however  dignified,  however  invigorat- 
ing,*however  really  desirable  are  habits  of  life  involv- 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.       131 

ing  daily  physical  toil,  there  is  a  constant  evil  demon 
at  every  one's  elbow,  seducing  him  to  evade  it,  or  to 
bear  its  weight  with  sullen,  discontented  murmurs^ 

I  will  venture  to  say  that  there  are  at  least,  to  speak 
very  moderately,  a  hundred  houses  where  these  hum- 
ble lines  will  be  read  and  discussed,  where  there  are 
no  servants  except  the  ladies  of  the  household.  I 
will  venture  to  say,  also,  that  these  households,  many 
of  them,  are  not  inferior  in  the  air  of  cultivation  and 
refined  elegance  {o  many  which  are  conducted  by  the 
ministration  of  domestics.  I  will  venture  to  assert, 
furthermore,  that  these  same  ladies  who  live  thus  find 
quite  as  much  time  for  reading,  letter- writing,  draw- 
ing, embroidery,  and  fancy-work  as  the  women  of 
families  otherwise  arranged.  I  am  quite  certain  that 
they  would  be  found  on  an  average  to  be  in  the  en- 
joyment of  better  health,  and  more  of  that  sense  of 
capability  and  vitality  which  gives  one  confidence  in 
one's  ability  to  look  into  life  and  meet  it  with  cheer- 
ful courage,  than  three  quarters  of  the  women  who 
keep  servants,  —  and  that  on  the  whole  their  domes- 
tic establishment  is  regulated  more  exactly  to  their 
mind,  their  food  prepared  and  served  more  to  their 
taste.  And  yet,  with  all  this,  I  will  not  venture  to 
assert  that  they  are  satisfied  with  this  way  of  living, 
and  that  they  would  not  change  it  forthwith,  if  they 
could.  They  have  a  secret  feeling  all  the  while  that 


132  House  and  Home  Papers. 

they  are  being  abused,  that  they  are  working  harder 
than  they  ought  to,  and  that  women  who  live  in  their 
houses  like  boarders,  who  have  only  to  speak  and  it  is 
done,  are  the  truly  enviable  ones.  One  after  another 
of  their  associates,  as  opportunity  offers  and  means 
increase,  deserts  the  ranks,  and  commits  her  domestic 
affairs  to  the  hands  of  hired  servants,  Self-respect 
takes  the  alarm.  Is  it  altogether  genteel  to  live  as 
we  do  ?  To  be  sure,  we  are  accustomed  to  it ;  we 
have  it  all  systematized  and  arranged ;  the  work  of 
our  own  hands  suits  us  better  than  any  we  can  hire ; 
in  fact,  when  we  do  hire,  we  are  discontented  and  un- 
comfortable, —  for  who  will  do  for  us  what  we  will  do 
for  ourselves  ?  But  when  we  have  company  !  there  's 
the  rub,  to  get  out  all  our  best  things  and  put  them 
back,  —  to  cook  the  meals  and  wash  the  dishes  in- 
gloriously,  —  and  to  make  all  appear  as  if  we  did  n't 
do  it,  and  had  servants  like  other  people. 

There,  after  all,  is  the  rub.  A  want  of  hardy  self- 
respect,  —  an  unwillingness  to  face  with  dignity  the 
actual  facts  and  necessities  of  our  situation  in  life,  — 
this,  after  all,  is  the  worst  and  most  dangerous  feature 
of  the  case.  It  is  the  same  sort  of  pride  which  makes 
Smilax  think  he  must  hire  a  waiter  in  white  gloves, 
and  get  up  a  circuitous  dinner-party  on  English  prin- 
ciples, to  entertain  a  friend  from  England.  Because 
the  friend  in  England  livss  in  such  and  such  a  style, 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.       133 

he  must  make  believe  for  a  day  that  he  lives  so  too, 
when  in  fact  it  is  a  whirlwind  in  his  domestic  establish- 
ment equal  to  a  removal  or  a  fire,  and  threatens  the 
total  extinction  of  Mrs.  Smilax.  Now  there  are  two 
principles  of  hospitality  that  people  are  very  apt  to 
overlook.  One  is,  that  their  guests  like  to  be  made 
at  home,  and  treated  with  confidence  ;  and  another  is, 
that  people  are  always  interested  in  the  details  of  a 
way  of  life  that  is  new  to  them.  The  Englishman 
comes  to  America  as  weary  of  his  old,  easy,  family- 
coach  life  as  you  can  be  of  yours  ;  he  wants  to  see 
something  new  under  the  sun,  —  something  Ameri- 
can'; and  forthwith  we  all  bestir  ourselves  to  give  him 
something  as  near  as  we  can  fancy  exactly  like  what 
he  is  already  tired  of.  So  city-people  come  to  the 
country,  not  to  sit  in  the  best  parlor,  and  to  see  the 
nearest  imitation  of  city-life,  but  to  lie  on  the  hay- 
mow, to  swing  in  the  barn,  to  form  intimacy  with  the 
pigs,  chickens,  and  ducks,  and  to  eat  baked  potatoes 
exactly  on  the  critical  moment  when  they  are  done, 
from  the  oven  of  the  cooking-stove,  —  and  we  remark, 
en  passant,  that  nobody  has  ever  truly  eaten  a  baked 
potato,  unless  he  has. seized  it  at  that  precise  and  for- 
tunate moment. 

I  fancy  you  riow,  my  friends,  whom  I  have  in  my 
eye.  You  are  three  happy  women  together.  You  are 
all  so  well  that  you  know  not  how  it  feels  to  be  sick. 


134  House  and  Home  Papers. 

You  are  used  to  early  rising,  and  would  not  lie  in  bed, 
if  you  could.  Long  years  of  practice  have  made  you 
familiar  with  the  shortest,  neatest,  most  expeditious 
method  of  doing  every  household  office,  so  that  really 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  in  your  house  there 
seems  to  a  looker-on  to  be  nothing  to  do.  You  rise 
in  the  morning  and  despatch  your  husband,  father, 
and  brothers  to  the  farm  or  wood-lot ;  you  go  sociably 
about  chatting  with  each  other,  while  you  skim  the 
milk,  make  the  butter,  turn  the  cheeses.  The  fore- 
noon is  long ;  it  's  ten  to  one  that  all  the  so-called 
morning  work  is  over,  and  you  have  leisure  for  an 
hour's  sewing  or  reading  before  it  is  time  to  start  the 
dinner  preparations.  By  two  o'clock  your  house-work 
is  done,  and  you  have  the  long  afternoon  for  books, 
needlework,  or  drawing,  —  for  perhaps  there  is  among 
you  one  with  a  gift  at  her  pencil.  Perhaps  one  of  you 
reads  aloud  while  the  others  sew,  and  you  manage  in 
that  way  to  keep  up  with  a  great  deal  of  reading.  I 
see  on  your  book-shelves  Prescott,  Macaulay,  Irving, 
besides  the  lighter  fry  of  poems  and  novels,  and,  if 
I  mistake  not,  the  friendly  covers  of  the  "Atlantic." 
When  you  have  company,  you  invite  Mrs.  Smith  or 
Brown  or  Jones  to  tea ;  you*  have  no  trouble  ;  they 
come  early,  with  their  knitting  or  sewing ;  your  particu- 
lar crony  sits  with  you  by  your  polished  stove  while  you 
watch  the  baking  of  those  light  biscuits  and  tea-rusks 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.      135 

for  which  you  are  so  famous,  and  Mrs.  Somebody- 
else  chats  with  your  sister,  who  is  spreading  the  table 
with  your  best  china  in  the  best  room.  When  tea  is 
over,  there  is  plenty  of  volunteering  to  help  you  wash 
your  pretty  India  teacups,  and  get  them  back  into  the 
cupboard.  There  is  no  special  fatigue  or  exertion  in 
all  this,  though  you  have  taken  down  the  best  things 
and  put  them  back,  because  you  have  done  all  without 
anxiety  or  effort,  among  those  who  would  do  precisely 
the  same,  if  you  were  their  visitors. 

But  now  comes  down  pretty  Mrs.  Simmons  and  her 
pretty  daughter  to  spend  a  week  with  you,  and  forth- 
with you  are  troubled.  Your  youngest,  Fanny,  visited 
them  in  New  York  last  fall,  and  tells  you  of  their  cook 
and  chambermaid,  and  the  servant  in  white  gloves  that 
waits  on  table.  You  say  in  your  soul,  "  What  shall  we 
do  I  they  never  can  be  contented  to  live  as  we  do ; 
how  shall  we  manage  ?  "  And  now  you  long  for  ser- 
vants. 

This  is  the  very  time  that  you  should  know  that 
Mrs.  Simmons  is  tired  to  death  of  her  fine  establish- 
ment, and  weighed  down  with  the  task  of  keeping  the 
peace  among  her  servants.  She  is  a  quiet  soul,  dearly 
lovirig  her  ease,  and  hating  strife ;  and  yet  last  week 
.  she  had  five  quarrels  to  settle  between  her  invaluable 
cook  and  the  other  members  of  her  staff,  because 
invaluable  cook,  on  the  Strength  of  knowing  how  to  get 


136  House  and  Home  Papers. 

up  state-dinners  and  to  manage  all  sorts  of  mysteries 
which  her  mistress  knows  nothing  about,  asserts  the 
usual  right  of  spoiled  favorites  to  insult  all  her  neigh- 
bors with  impunity,  and  rule  with  a  rod  of  iron  over 
the  whole  house.  Anything  that  is  not  in  the  least 
like  her  own  home  and  ways  of  living  will  be  a  blessed 
relief  and  change  to  Mrs.  Simmons.  Your  clean,  quiet 
house,  your  delicate  cookery,  your  cheerful  morning 
tasks,  if  you  will  let  her  follow  you  about,  and  sit 
and  talk  with  you  while  you  are  at  your  work,  will 
all  seem  a  pleasant  contrast  to  her  own  life.  Of 
course,  if  it  came  to  the  case  of  offering  to  change 
lots  in  life,  she  would  not  do  it ;  but  very  likely  she 
thinks  she  would,  and  sighs  over  and  pities  herself, 
and  thinks  sentimentally  how  fortunate  you  are,  how 
snugly  and  securely  you  live,  and  wishes  she  were  as 
untrammelled  and  independent  as  you.  And  she  is 
more  than  half  right ;  for,  with  her  helpless  habits, 
her  utter  ignorance  of  the  simplest  facts  concerning 
the  reciprocal  relations  of  milk,  eggs,  butter,  saleratus, 
soda,  and  yeast,  she  is  completely  the  victim  and  slave 
of  the  person  she  pretends  to  rule. 

Only  imagine  some  of  the  frequent  scenes  and  re- 
hearsals in  her  family.     After  many  trials,  she  at  last 
engages  a  seamstress  who  promises  to  prove  a  perfect^ 
treasure,  —  neat,  dapper,  nimble,  skilful,  and  spirited. 
The  very  soul  of  Mrs.  Simmons  rejoices  in  heaven. 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.      137 

Illusive  bliss  !  The  new-comer  proves  to  be  no  favor- 
ite with  Madam  Cook,  and  the  domestic  fates  evolve 
the  catastrophe,  as  follows.  First,  low  murmur  of 
distant  thunder  in  the  kitchen  ;  then  a  day  or  two  of 
sulky  silence,  in  Which  the  atmosphere  seems  heavy 
with  an  approaching  storm.  At  last  comes  the  climax. 
The  parlor-door  flies  open  during  breakfast.  Enter 
seamstress,  in  tears,  followed  by  Mrs.  Cook  with  a 
face  swollen  and  red  with  wrath,  who  tersely  intro- 
duces the  subject-matter  of  the  drama  in  a  voice  trem- 
bling with  rage. 

"  Would  you  be  plased,  Ma'am,  to  suit  yerself  with 
another  cook  ?  Me  week  will  be  up  next  Tuesday, 
and  I  want  to  be  going." 

"  Why,  Bridget,  what 's  the  matter  ? " 

"  Matter  enough,  Ma'am  !  I  niver  could  live  with 
them  Cork  girls  in  a  house,  nor  I  won't ;  them  as  likes 
the  Cork  girls  is  welcome  for  all  me  ;  but  it 's  not  for 
the  likes  of  me  to  live  with  them,  and  she  been  in  the 
kitchen  a-upsettin'  of-  me  gravies  with  her  flat-irons 
and  things." 

Here  bursts  in  the  seamstress  with  a  whirlwind  of 
denial,  and  the  altercation  wages  fast  and  furious,  and 
poor,  little,  delicate  Mrs,  Simmons  stands  like  a  kitten 
in  a  thunder-storm  in  the  midst  of  a  regular  Irish  row. 

Cook,  of  course,  is  sure  of  her  victory.  She  knows 
that  a  great  dinner  is  to  come  off  Wednesday,  and 


138  House  and  Home  Papers. 

that  her  mistress  has  not  the  smallest  idea  how  to 
manage  it,  and  that,  therefore,  whatever  happens,  she 
must  be  conciliated. 

Swelling  with  secret  indignation  at  the  tyrant,  poor 
Mrs.  Simmons  dismisses  her  seamstress  with  longing 
looks.  She  suited  her  mistress  exactly,  but  she  did  n't 
suit  cook  ! 

Now,  if  Mrs.  Simmons  had  been  brought  up  in  early 
life  with  the  experience  that  you  have,  she  would  be 
mistress  in  her  own  house.  She  would  quietly  say 
to  Madam  Cook,  "  If  my  family  arrangements  do  not 
suit  you,  you  can  leave.  I  can  see  to  the  dinner 
myself."  And  she  could  do  it.  Her  well-trained  mus- 
cles would  not  break  down  under  a  little  extra  work  ; 
her  skill,  adroitness,  and  perfect  familiarity  with  every- 
thing that  is  to  be  done  would  enable  her  at  once  to 
make  cooks  of  any  bright  girls  of  good  capacity  who 
might  still  be  in  her  establishment ;  and,  above  all, 
she  would  feel  herself  mistress  in  her  own  house. 
This  is  what  would  come  of  an  experience  in  doing 
her  own  work  as  you  do.  She  who  can  at  once  put 
her  own  trained  hand  to  the  machine  in  any  spot 
where  a  hand  is  needed  never  comes  to  be  the  slave 
of  a  coarse,  vulgar  Irishwoman. 

So,  also,  in  forming  a  judgment  of  what  is  to  be 
expected  of  servants  in  a  given  time,  and  what  ought 
to  be  expected  of  a  given  amount  of  provisions,  poor 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.      139 

Mrs.  Simmons  is  absolutely  at  sea.  If  even  for  one 
six  months  in  her  life  she  had  been  a  practical  cook, 
and  had  really  had  the  charge  of  the  larder,  she  would 
not  now  be  haunted,  as  she  constantly  is,  by  an  indefi- 
nite apprehension  of  an  immense  wastefulness,  perhaps 
of  the  disappearance  of  provisions  through  secret  chan- 
nels of  relationship  and  favoritism.  She  certainly 
could  not  be  made  to  believe  in  the  absolute  necessity 
of  so  many  pounds  of  sugar,  quarts  of  milk,  and  doz- 
ens of  eggs,  not  to  mention  spices  and  wine,  as  are 
daily  required  for  the  accomplishment  of  Madam 
Cook's  purposes.  But  though  now  she  does  suspect 
and  apprehend,  she  cannot  speak  with  certainty.  She 
cannot  say,  "/  have  made  these  things.  I  know 
exactly  what  they  require.  I  have  done  this  and  that 
myself,  and  know  it  can  be  done,  and  done  well,  in  a 
certain  time."  It  is  said  that  women  who  have  been 
accustomed'  to  doing  their  own  work  become  hard 
mistresses.  They  are  certainly  more  sure  of  the 
ground  they  stand  on,  —  they  are  less  open  to  impo- 
sition, —  they  can  speak  and  act  in  their  own  houses 
more  as  those  "  having  authority,"  and  therefore  are 
less  afraid  to  exact  what  is  justly  their  due,  and  less 
willing  to  endure  impertinence  and  unfaithfulness. 
Their  general  error  lies  in  expecting  that  any  servant 
ever  will  do  as  well  for  them  as  they  will  do  for  them- 
selves, and  that  an  untrained,  undisciplined  human 


140  House  and  Home  Papers. 

being  ever  can  do  house-work,  or  any  other  work,  with 
the  neatness  and  perfection  that  a  person  of  trained 
intelligence  can.  It  has  been  remarked  in  our  armies 
that  the  men  of  cultivation,  though  bred  in  delicate 
and  refined  spheres,  can  bear  up  under  the  hardships 
of  camp-life  better  and  longer  than  rough  laborers. 
The  reason  is,  that  an  educated  mind  knows  how  to 
use  and  save  its  body,  to  work  it  and  spare  it,  as  an 
uneducated  mind  cannot ;  and  so  the,  college-bred 
youth  brings-  himself  safely  through  fatigues  which 
kill  the  unreflective  laborer.  Cultivated,  intelligent 
women,  who  are  brought  up  to  do  the  work  of  their 
own  families,  are  labor-saving  institutions.  They  make 
the  head  save  the  wear  of  the  muscles.  By  fore- 
thought, contrivance,  system,  and  arrangement,  they 
lessen  the  amount  to  be  done,  and  do  it  with  less 
expense  of  time  and  strength  than  others.  The  old 
New  England  motto,  Get  your  work  done  up  in  the 
forenoon,  applied  to  an  amount  of  work  which  would 
keep  a  common  Irish  servant  toiling  from  daylight  to 
sunset. 

A  lady  living  in  one  of  our  obscure  New  England 
towns,  where  there  were  no  servants  to  be  hired,  at 
last  by  sending  to  a  distant  city  succeeded  in  procur- 
ing a  raw  Irish  maid-of-all-work,  a  creature  of  immense 
bone  and  muscle,  but  of  heavy,  unawakened  brain. 
In  one  fortnight  she  established  such  a  reign  of  Chaos 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.       141 

and  old  Night  in  the  kitchen  and  thfough  the  house, 
that  her  mistress,  a  delicate  woman,  encumbered  with 
the  care  of  young  children,  began  seriously  to  think 
that  she  made  more  work  each  day  than  she  per- 
formed, and  dismissed  her.  What  was  now  to  be 
done  ?  Fortunately,  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring 
farmer  was  going  to  be  married  in  six  months,  and 
wanted  a  little  ready  money  for  her  trousseau.  The 
lady  was  informed  that  Miss  So-and-so  would  come 
to  her,  not  as  a  servant,  but  as  hired  "help."  She 
was  fain  to  accept  any  help  with  gladness.  Forthwith 
came  into  the  family-circle  a  tall,  well-dressed  young 
person,  grave,  unobtrusive,  self-respecting,  yet  not  in 
the  least  presuming,  who  sat  at  the  family-table  and 
observed  all  its  decorums  with  the 'modest  self-posses- 
sion of  a  lady.  The  new-comer  took  a/survey  of  the 
labors  of  a  family  of  ten  members,  inducing  four  or 
five  young  children,  and,  looking,  seemed  at  once  to 
throw  them  into  system,  matured  her  plans,  arranged 
her  hours  of  washing,  ironing,  baking,  cleaning,  rose 
early,  moved  deftly,  and  in  a  single  day  the  slatternly 
and  littered  kitchen  assumed  that  neat,  orderly  ap- 
pearance that  so  often  strikes  one  in  New  England 
farm-houses.  The  work  seemed  to  be  all  gone.  Ev- 
erything was  nicely  washed,  brightened,  put  in  place, 
and  stayed  in  place  ;  the  floors,  when  cleaned,  re- 
mained clean ;  the  work  was  always  done,  and  not 


142  House  and  Home  Papers. 

doing ;  and  every  afternoon  the  young  lady  sat  neatly 
dressed  in  her  own  apartment,  either  quietly  writing 
letters  to  her  betrothed,  or  sewing  on  her  bridal  outfit. 
Such  is  the  result  of  employing  those  who  have  been 
brought  up  to  do  their  own  work.  That  tall,  fine-look- 
ing girl,  for  aught  we  know,  may  yet  be  mistress  of  a 
fine  house  on  Fifth  Avenue ;  and  if  she  is,  she  will, 
we  fear,  prove  rather  an  exacting  mistress  to  Irish 
Biddy  and  Bridget ;  but  she  will  never  be  threatened 
by  her  cook  and  chambermaid,  after  the  first  one  or 
two  have  tried  the  experiment- 
Having  written  thus  far  on  my  article,  I  laid  it 
aside  till  evening,  when,  as  usual,  I  was-  saluted  by 
the  inquiry,  "  Has  papa  been  writing  anything  to- 
day?" and  then  followed  loud  petitions  to  hear  it; 
and  so  I  read  as  far,  reader,  as  you  have. 

"  Well,  papa,"  said  Jenny,  "  what  are  you  meaning 
to  make  out  there  ?  Do  you  really  think  it  would  be 
best  for  us  all  to  try  to  go  back  to  that  old  style  of 
living  you  describe  ?  After  all,  you  have  shown  only 
the  dark  side  of  an  establishment  with  servants,  and 
the  bright  side  of  the  other  way  of  nving.  Mamma 
does  not  have  such  trouble  with  her  servants  ;  matters 
have  always  gone  smoothly  in  our  family ;  and  if  we 
are  not  such  wonderful  girls  as  those  you  describe, 
yet  we  may  make  pretty  good  housekeepers  on  the 
modern  system,  after  all." 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.      143 

"  You  don't  know  all  the  troubles  your  mamma  has 
had  in  your  day,"  said  my  wife.  "  I  have  often,  in  the 
course  of  my  family-history,  seen  the  day  when  I  have 
heartily  wished  for  the  strength  and  ability  to  manage 
my  household  matters  as  my  grandmother  of  notable 
memory  managed  hers.  But  I  fear  that  'those  remark- 
able women  of  the  olden  times  are  like  the  ancient 
painted  glass,  —  the  art  of  making  them  is  lost ;  my 
mother  was  less  than  her  mother,  and  I  am  less  than 
my  mother." 

"And  Marianne  and  I  come  out  entirely  at  the 
little  end  of  the  horn,"  said  Jenny,  laughing ;  "  yet  I 
wash  the  breakfast-cups  and  dust  the  parlors,  and  have 
always  fancied  myself  a  notable  housekeeper." 

"  It  is  just  as  I  told  you,"  I  said.  "  Human  nature 
is  always  the  same.  Nobody  ever  is  or  does  more 
than  circumstances  fofce  him  to  be  and  do.  Those 
remarkable  women  of  old  were  made  by  circumstances. 
There  were,  comparatively  speaking,  no  servants  to  be 
had,  and  so  children  were  trained  to  habits  of  indus- 
try and  mechanical  adroitness  from  the  cradle,  and 
every  household  process  was  reduced  to  the  very  mini- 
mum of  labor.  Every  step  required  in  a  process  was 
counted,  every  movement  calculated;  and  she  who  took 
ten  steps,  when  one  would  do,  lost  her  reputation  for 
1  faculty.'  Certainly  such  an  early  drill  was  of  use  in 
developing  the  health  and  the  bodily  powers,  as  well 


144  House  and  Home  Papers. 

as  in  giving  precision  to  the  practical  mental  faculties. 
All  household  economies  were  arranged  with  equal 
nieeness  in  those  thoughtful  minds.  A  trained  house- 
keeper knew  just  how  many  sticks  of  hickory  of  a 
certain  size  were  required  to  heat  her  oven,  and  how 
many  of  each  different  kind  of  wood.  She  knew  by 
a  sort  of  intuition  just  what  kinds  of  food  would  yield 
the  most  palatable  nutriment  with-  the  least  outlay  of 
accessories  in  cooking.  She  knew  to  a  minute  the 
time  when  each  article  must  go  into  and  be  withdrawn 
from  her  oven ;  and  if  she  could  only  lie  in  her  cham- 
ber and  direct,  she  could  guide  an  intelligent  child 
through  the  processes  with  mathematical  certainty.  It 
is  impossible,  however,  that  anything  but  early  train- 
ing and  long  experience  can  produce  these  results, 
and  it  is  earnestly  to  be  wished  that  the  grandmothers 
of  New  England  had  only  written  down  their  experi- 
ences for  our  children ;  they  would  have  been  a  mine 
of  maxims  and  traditions,  better  than  any  other  tradi- 
tions of  the  elders  which  we  know  of." 

"  One  thing  I  know,"  said  Marianne,  —  "  and  that 
is,  I  wish  I  had  been  brought  up  so,  and  knew  all  that 
I  should;  and  had  all  the  strength  and  adroitness  that 
those  women  had.  I  should  not  dread  to  begin  house- 
keeping, as  I  now  do.  I  should  feel  myself  indepen- 
dent. I  should  feel  that  I  knew  how  to  direct  my 
servants,  and  what  it  was  reasonable  and  proper  to 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own    Work.       145 

• 

expect  of  them  \  and  then,  as  you  say,  I  should  n't 
be  dependent  on  all  their  whims  and  caprices  of  tem- 
per. I  dread  those  household  storms,  of  all  things." 
Silently  pondering  these  anxieties  of  the  young 
expectant  housekeeper,  I  resumed  my  pen,  and  con- 
cluded my  paper  as  follows. 

In  this  country,  our  democratic  institutions  have 
removed  the  superincumbent  pressure  which  in  the 
Old  World  confines  the  servants  to  a  regular  orbit. 
They  come  here  feeling  that  this  is  somehow  a  land 
of  liberty,  and  with  very  dim  and  confused  notions  of 
what  liberty  is.  They  are  for  the  most  part  the  raw, 
untrained  Irish  peasantry,  and  the  wonder  is,  that, 
with  all  the  unreasoning  heats  and  prejudices  of  the 
Celtic  blood,  all  the  necessary  ignorance  and  rawness, 
there  should  be  the  measure  of  comfort  and  success 
there  is  in  our  domestic  arrangements.  But,  so  long 
as  things  are  so,  there  will  be  constant  changes  and 
interruptions  in  every  domestic  establishment,  and 
constantly  recurring  interregnums  when  the  mistress 
must  put  her  own  hand  to  the  work,  whether  the  hand 
be  a  trained  or  ah  untrained  one.  As  matters  now 
are,  the  young  housekeeper  takes  life  at  the  hardest. 
She  has  very  little  strength,  —  no  experience  to  teach 
her  how  to  save  her  strength.  She  knows  nothing 
experimentally  of  the  simplest  processes  necessary  to 
7 


146  House  and  Home  Papers. 

*- 

keep  her  family  comfortably  fed  and  clothed ;  and  she 
has  a  way  of  looking  at  all  these  things  which  makes 
them  particularly  hard  and  distasteful  to  her.  She 
does  not  escape  being  obliged  to  do  house-work  at 
intervals,  but  she  does  it  in  a  weak,  blundering,  con- 
fused way,  that  makes  it  twice  as  hard  and  disagree- 
able as  it  need  be. 

Now  what  I  have  to  say  is,  that,  if  every  young 
woman  learned  to  do  house-work  and  cultivated  her 
practical  faculties  in  early  life,  she  would,  in  the  first 
place,  be  much  more  likely  to  keep  her  servants,  and, 
in  the  second  place,  if  she  lost  them  temporarily,  would 
avoid  all  that  wear  and  tear  of  the  nervous  system 
which  comes  from  constant  ill-success  in  those  de- 
partments on  which  family  health  and  temper  mainly 
depend.  This  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  our  Ameri- 
can life  which  require  a  peculiar  training.  Why  not 
face  it  sensibly? 

The  second  thing  I  have  to  say  is,  that  our  land  is 
now  full  of  motorpathic  institutions  to  which  women 
are  sent  at  great  expense  to  have  hired  operators 
stretch  and  exercise  their  inactive  muscles.  They  lie 
for  hours  to  have  their  feet  twigged,  their  arms  flexed, 
and  all  the  different  muscles  of  the  body  worked  for 
them,  because  they  are  so  flaccid  and  torpid  that  the 
powers  of  life  do  not  go  on.  Would  it  not  be  quite 
as  cheerful  and  less  expensive  a  process,  if  young 


The  Lady  who  does  her  own   Work.      147 

girls  from  early  life  developed  the  muscles  in  sweep- 
ing, dusting,  ironing,  rubbing  furniture,  and  all  the 
multiplied  domestic  processes  which  our  grandmoth- 
ers knew  of?  A  woman  who  did  all  these,  and  diver- 
sified the  intervals  with  spinning  on  the  great  and 
little  wheel,  never  came  to  need  the  gymnastics  of 
Dio  Lewis  or  of  the  Swedish  motorpathist,  which 
really  are  a  necessity  now.  Does  it  not  seem  poor 
economy  to  pay  servants  for  letting  our  muscles  grow 
feeble,  and  then  to  pay  operators  to  exercise  them  for 
us  ?  I  will  venture  to  say  that  our  grandmothers  in 
a  week  went  over  every  movement  that  any  gymnast 
has  invented,  and  went  over  them  to  some  productive 
purpose  too. 

Lastly,  my  paper  will  not  have  been  in  vain,  if  those 
ladies  who  have  learned  and  practise  the  invaluable 
accomplishment  of  doing  their  own  work  will  know 
their  own  happiness  and  dignity,  and  properly  value 
their  great  acquisition,  even  though  it  may  have  been 
forced  upon  them  by  circumstances. 


VII. 

WHAT   CAN   BE   GOT   IN   AMERICA. 

WHILE  I  was  preparing  my  article  for  the  "At- 
lantic," our  friend  Bob  Stephens  burst  in  upon 
us,  in  some  considerable  heat,  with  a  newspaper  in  his 
hand. 

"  Well,  girls,  your  time  is  come  now  !  You  women 
have  been  preaching  heroism  and  sacrifice  to  us,  — 
'so  splendid  to  go  forth  and  suffer  and  die  for  our 
country,'  —  and  now  comes  the  test  of  feminine  patri- 
otism." 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter  now  ? "  said  Jenny,  run- 
ning eagerly  to  look  over  his  shoulder  at  the  paper. 

"  No  more  foreign  goods,"  said  he,  waving  it  aloft, 
—  "  no  more  gold  shipped  to  Europe  for  silks,  laces, 
jewels,  kid  gloves,  and  what-not.  Here  it  is, — great 
movement,  headed  by  senators'  and  generals'  wives, 
Mrs.  General  Butler,  Mrs.  John  P.  Hale,  Mrs.  Henry 
Wilson,  and  so  on,  a  long  string  of  them,  to  buy  no 
more  imported  articles  during  the  war." 

"  But  I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  done,"  said  Jenny. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  do  you  suppose  that  '  nothing  to 
wear'  is  made  in  America?" 


What  can  be  got  in  America.  149 

"  But,  dear  Mr.  Crowfield,"  said  Miss  Featherstone, 
a  nice  girl,  who  was  just  then  one  of  our  family-circle, 
"there  is  not,  positively,  much  that  is  really  fit  to 
use  or  wear  made  in  America,  —  is  there  now  ?  Just 
think ;  how  is  Marianne  to  furnish  her  house  here 
without  French  papers  and  English  carpets  ?  —  those 
American  papers  are  so  very  ordinary,  and  as  to 
American  carpets,  everybody  knows  their  colors  don't 
hold ;  and  then,  as  to  dress,  a  lady  must  have  gloves, 
you  know,  —  and  everybody  knows  no  such  things  are 
made  in  America  as  gloves." 

"  I  think,"  I  said,  "  that  I  have  heard  of  certain 
fair  ladies  wishing  that  they  were  men,  that  they 
might  show  with  what  alacrity  they  would  sacrifice 
everything  on  the  altar  of  their  country  :  life  and  limb 
would  be  nothing ;  they  would  glory  in  wounds  and 
bruises,  they  would  enjoy  losing  a  right  arm,  they 
would  n't  mind  limping  about  on  a  lame  leg  the  rest 
of  their  lives,  if  they  were  John  or  Peter,  if  only  they 
might  serve  their  dear  country." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bob,  "  that 's  female  patriotism  !  Girls 
are  always  ready  to  jump  off  from  precipices,  or  throw 
themselves  into  abysses,  but  as  to  wearing,  an  unfash- 
ionable hat  or  thread  gloves,  that  they  can't  do,  — 
not  even  for  their  dear  country.  No  matter  whether 
there  's  any  money  left  to  pay  for  the  war  or  not,  the 
dear  souls  must  have  twenty  yards  of  silk  in  a  dress, 
—  it 's  the  fashion,  you  know." 


150  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  Now,  is  n't  he  too  bad  ? "  said  Marianne.  "As  if 
w#  'd  ever  been  asked  to  make  these  sacrifices  and 
refused !  I  think  I  have  seen  women  ready  to  give 
up  dress  and  fashion  and  everything  else,  for  a  good 
cause." 

"  For  that  matter,"  said  I,  "  the  history  of  all  wars 
has  shown  women  ready  to  sacrifice  what  is  most 
intimately  feminine  in  times  of  peril  to  their  country. 
The  women  of  Carthage  not  only  gave  up  their  jewels 
in  the  siege  of  their  city,  but,  in  the  last  extremity, 
cut  off  their  hair  for  bow-strings.  The  women  of 
Hungary  and  Poland,  in  their  country's  need,  sold 
their  jewels  and  plate  and  wore  ornaments  of  iron  and 
lead.  In  the  time  of  our  own  Revolution,  our  women 
dressed  in  plain  homespun  and  drank  herb-tea,  —  and 
certainly  nothing  is  more  feminine  than  a  cup  of  tea. 
And  in  this  very  struggle,  the  women  of  the  Southern 
States  have  cut  up  their  carpets  for  blankets,  have 
borne  the  most  humiliating  retrenchments  and  pri- 
vations of  all  kinds  without  a  murmur.  So  let  us 
exonerate  the  female  sex  of  want  of  patriotism,  at  any 
rate." 

"  Certainly,"  said  my  wife ;  "  and  if  our  Northern 
women  have  not  retrenched  and  made  sacrifices,  it 
has  been  because  it  has  not  been  impressed  on  them 
that  there  is  any  particular  call  for  it.  Everything  has 
seemed  to  be  so  prosperous  and  plentiful  in  the  North- 


What  can  be  got  in  America.  151 

ern  States,  money  has  been  so  abundant  and  easy  to 
come  by,  that  it  has  really  been  difficult  to  realize  l&at 
a  dreadful  and  destructive  war  was  raging.  Only  occa- 
sionally, after  a  great  battle,  when  the  lists  of  the 
killed  and  wounded  have  been  sent  through  the  coun- 
try, have  we  felt  that  we  were  making  a  sacrifice.  The 
women  who  have  spent  such  sums  for  laces  and  jewels 
and  silks  have  not  had  it  set  clearly  before  them  why 
they  should  not  do  so.  The  money  has  been  placed 
freely  in  their  hands,  and  the  temptation  before  their 
eyes." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jenny,  "  I  am  quite  sure  that  there  are 
hundreds  who  have  been  buying  foreign  goods,  who 
would  not  do  it,  if  they  could  see  any  connection 
between  their  not  doing  it  and  the  salvation  of  the 
country  ;  but  when  I  go  to  buy  a  pair  of  gloves,  I  nat- 
urally want  the  best  pair  I  can  find,  the  pair  that  will 
last  the  longest  and  look  the  best,  and  these  always 
happen  to  be  French  gloves." 

"  Then,"  said  Miss  Featherstone,  "  I  never  could 
clearly  see  why  people  should  confine  their  patronage 
and  encouragement  to  works  of  their  own  country. 
I  'm  sure  the  poor  manufacturers  of  England  have 
shown  the  very  noblest  spirit  with  relation  to  our 
cause,  and  so  have  the  silk-weavers  and  artisans  of 
France,  —  at  least,  so  I  have  heard  ;  why  should  we 
not  give  them  a  fair  share  of  encouragement,  particu- 


152  House  and  Home  Papers. 

larly  when  they  make  things  that  we  are  not  in  circum- 
stances to  make,  have  not  the  means  to  make  ? " 

"  Those  are  certainly  sensible  questions,"  I  replied, 
"  and  ought  to  meet  a  fair  answer,  and  I  should  say, 
that,  were  our  country  in  a  fair  ordinary  state  of  pros- 
perity, there  would  be  no  reason  why  our  wealth  should 
not  flow  out  for  the  encouragement  of  well-directed 
industry  in  any  part  of  the  world ;  from  this  point  of 
view  we  might  look  on  the  whole  world  as  our  coun- 
try, and  cheerfully  assist  in  developing  its  wealth  and 
resources.  But  our  country  is  now  in  the  situation  of 
a  private  family  whose  means  are  absorbed  by  an  ex- 
pensive sickness,  involving  the  life  of  its  head ;  just 
now  it  is  all  we  can  do  to  keep  the  family  together, 
all  our  means  are  swallowed  up  by  our  own  domestic 
wants,  wre  have  nothing  to  give  for  the  encouragement 
of  other  families,  we  must  exist  ourselves,  we  must 
get  through  this  crisis  and  hold  our  own,  and  that  we 
may  do  it  all  the  family  expenses  must  be  kept  within 
ourselves  as  far  as  possible.  If-  we  drain  off  all  the 
gold  of  the  country  to  send  to  Europe  to  encourage 
her  worthy  artisans,  we  produce  high  prices  and  dis- 
tress among  equally  worthy  ones  at  home,  and  we 
lessen  the  amount  of  our  resources  for  maintaining 
the  great  struggle  for  national  existence.  The  same 
amount  of  money  which  we  pay  for  foreign  luxuries, 
if  passed  into  the  hands  of  our  own  manufacturers 


What  can  be  got  in  America.  153 

and  producers,  becomes  available  for  the  increasing 
expenses  of  the  war." 

"But,  papa,"  said  Jenny,  "I  understood  that  a^ 
great  part  of  our  Governmental  income  was  derived 
from  the  duties  on  foreign  goods,  and  so  I  inferred 
that  the  more  foreign  goods  were  imported  the  better 
it  would  be." 

"  Well,  suppose,"  said  I,  "  that  for  every  hundred 
thousand  dollars  we  send  out  of  the  country  we  pay 
the  Government  ten  thousand  j  that  is  about  what  our 
gain  as  a  nation  would  be  ;  —  we  send  our  gold  abroad 
in  a  great  stream,  and  give  our  Government  a  little 
driblet." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Miss  Featherstone,  "  what  can  be 
got  in  America  ?  Hardly  anything,  I  believe,  except 
common  calicoes." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  my  dear  lady,"  said  I, 
"  there  is  where  you  and  multitudes  of  others  are 
greatly  mistaken.  Your  partiality  for  foreign  things 
has  kept  you  ignorant  of  what  you  have  at  home. 
Now  I  am  not  blaming  the  love  of  foreign  things  ;  it 
is  not  peculiar  to  us  Americans  ;  all  nations  have  it. 
It  is  a  part  of  the  poetry  of  our  nature  to  love  what 
comes  from  afar,  and  reminds  us  of  lands  distant  and 
different  from  our  own.  The  English  belles  seek  after 
French  laces  ;  the  French  beauty  enumerates  English 
laces  among  her  rarities ;  and  the  French  dandy  piques 
7* 


154  House  and  Home  Papers. 

himself  upon  an  English  tailor.  We  Americans  are 
great  travellers,  and  few  people  travel,  I  fancy,  with 
more  real  enjoyment  than  we  ;  our  domestic  establish- 
ments, as  compared  with  those  of  the  Old  World,  are 
less  cumbrous  and  stately,  and  so  our  money  is  com- 
monly in  hand  as  pocket-money,  to  be  spent  freely 
and  gayly  in  our  tours  abroad. 

"  We  have  such  bright  and  pleasant  times  in  every 
country  that  we  conceive  a  kindliness  for  its  belong- 
ings. To  send  to  Pans  for  our  dresses  and  our  shoes 
and  our  gloves  may  not  be  a  mere  bit  .of  foppery,  but 
a  reminder  of  the  bright,  pleasant  hours  we  have  spent 
in  that  city  of  Boulevards  and  fountains.  Hence  it 
comes,  in  a  way  not  very  blamable,  that  many  people 
have  been  so  engrossed  with  what  can  be  got  from 
abroad  that  they  have  neglected  to  inquire  what  can 
be  found  at  home ;  they  have  supposed)  of  course,  that 
to  get  a  decent  watch  they  must  send  to  Geneva  or  to 
London,  —  that  to  get  thoroughly  good  carpets  they 
must  have  the  English  manufacture,  —  that  a  really 
tasteful  wall-paper  could  be  found  only  in  Paris, — 
and  that  flannels  and  broadcloths  could  come  only 
from  France,  Great  Britain,  or  Germany." 

"  Well,  is  n't  it  so  ? "  said  Miss  Featherstone.  "  I 
certainly  have  always  thought  so  ;  I  never  heard  of 
American  watches,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  I  'm  sure  you  can't  have  read  an 


WJiat  can  be  got  in  America.  155 

article  that  you  should  have  read  on  the  Waltham 
watches,  written  by  our  friend  George  W.  Curtis,  in 
the  "Atlantic"  for  January  of  last  year.  I  must  refer 
you  to  that  to  learn  that  we  make  in  America  watches 
superior  to  those  of  Switzerland  or  England,  bringing 
into  the  service  machinery  and  modes  of  workman- 
ship unequalled  for  delicacy  and  precision  ;  as  I  said 
before,  you  must  get  the  article  and  read  it,  and  if 
some  sunny  day  you  could  make  a  trip  to  Waltham, 
and  see  the  establishment,  it  would  greatly  assist  your 
comprehension." 

"Then,  as  to  men's  clothing,"  said  Bob,  "I  know 
to  my  entire  satisfaction  that  many  of  the  most  popu- 
lar cloths  for  men's  wear  are  actually  American  fabrics 
baptized  with  French  and  English  names  to  make 
them  sell." 

"  Which  sTiows,"  said  I,  "  the  use  of  a  general  com- 
munity movement  to  employ  American  goods.  It  will 
change  the  fashion.  The  demand  will  create  the  sup- 
ply. When  the  leaders  of  fashion  are  inquiring  for 
American  instead  of  French  and  English  fabrics,  they 
will  be  surprised  to  find  what  nice  American  articles 
there  are.  The  work  of  our  own  hands  will  no  more 
be  forced  to  skulk  into  the  market  under  French  and 
English  names,  and  we  shall  see,  what  is  really  true, 
that  an  American  gentleman  need  not  look  beyond 
his  own  country  for  a  wardrobe  befitting  him.  I  am 


156  House  and  Home  Papers. 

positive  that  we  need  not  seek  broadcloth  or  other 
woollen  goods  from  foreign  lands,  —  that  better  hats 
are  made  in  America  than  in  Europe,  and  better  boots 
and  shoes ;  and  I  should  be  glad  to  send  an  American 
gentleman  to  the  World's  Fair  dressed  from  top  to  toe 
in  American  manufactures,  with  an  American-  watch 
in  his  pocket,  and  se*e  if  he  would  suffer  in  comparison 
with-  the  gentlemen  of  any  other  country." 

"  Then,  as  to  house-furnishing,"  began  my  wife, 
"American  carpets  are  getting  to  be  every  way  equal 
to  the  English." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "and  what  is  more,  the  Brussels 
carpets  of  England  are  woven  on  looms  invented  by 
an  American,  and  bought  of  him.  Our  countryman, 
Bigelow,  went  to  England  to  study  carpet- weaving  in 
the  English  looms,  —  supposing  that  all  arts  were  gen- 
erously open  for  the  instruction  of  learners.  He  was 
denied  the  opportunity  of  studying  the  machinery  and 
watching  the  processes  by  a  short-sighted  jealousy. 
He  immediately  sat  down  with  a  yard  of  carpeting, 
and,  patiently  unravelling  it,  thread  by  thread,  com- 
bined and  calculated  till  he  invented  the  machinery 
on  which  the  best  carpets  of  the  Old  and  New  World 
are  woven.  No  pains  which  such  ingenuity  and  en- 
ergy can  render  effective  are  spared  to  make  our  fabrics 
equal  those  of  the  British  market,  and  we  need  only 
to  be  disabused  of  the  old  prejudice,  and  to  keep  up 


What  can  be  got  in  America.  157 

with  the  movement  of  our  own  country,  and  find  out 
our  own  resources.  The  fact  is,  every  year  improves 
our  fabrics.  Our  mechanics,  our  manufacturers,  are 
working  with  an  energy,  a  zeal,  and  a  skill  that  carry 
things  forward  faster  than  anybody  dreams  of;  and 
nobody  can  predicate  the  character  of  American  arti- 
cles, in  any  department,  now,  by  their  character  even 
five  years  ago." 

"  Well,  as  to  wall-papers,"  said  Miss  Featherstone, 
"  there  you  must  confess  the  French  are  and  must  be 
unequalled." 

"  I  do  not  confess  any  such  thing,"  said  I,  hardily. 
"  I  grant  you  that  in  that  department  of  paper-hangings 
which  exhibits  floral  decoration  the  French  designs 
and  execution  are  and  must  be  for  some  time  to  come 
far  ahead  of  all  the  world,  —  their  drawing  of  flowers, 
vines,  and  foliage  has  the  accuracy  of  botanical  studies 
and  the  grace  of  finished  works  of  art,  and  we  cannot 
as  yet  pretend  in  America  to  do  anything  equal  to  it. 
But  for  satin  finish,  and  for  a  variety  of  exquisite  tints 
of  plain  colors,  American  papers  equal  any  in  the 
world ;  our  gilt  papers  even  surpass  in  the  heaviness 
and  polish  of  the  gilding  those  of  foreign  countries  ; 
and  we  have  also  gorgeous  velvets.  All  I  have  to  say 
is,  let  people  who  are  furnishing  houses  inquire  for 
articles  of  American  manufacture,  and  they  will  be 
surprised  at  what  they  will  see.  We  need  go  no 


158  House  and  Home  Papers. 

farther  than  our  Cambridge  glass-works  to  see  that 
the  most  dainty  devices  of  cut-glass,  crystal,  ground 
and  engraved  glass  of  every  color  and  pattern,  may  be 
had  of  American  workmanship,  every  way  equal  to 
the  best  European  make,  and  for  half  the  price.  And 
American  painting  on  china  is  so  well  executed  both 
in  Boston  and  New  York,  that  deficiencies  in  the  finest 
French  or  English  sets  can  be  made  up  in  a  style  not 
distinguishable  from  the  original,  as  one  may  easily 
see  by  calling  on  our  worthy  next  neighbor,  Briggs,  who 
holds  the  opposite  corner  to  our  "Atlantic  Monthly." 
No  porcelain,  it  is  true,  is  yet  made  in  America, 
these  decorative  arts  being  exercised  on  articles  im- 
ported from  Europe.  Our  tables  must,  therefore,  per 
force,  be  largely  indebted  to  foreign  lands  for  years 
to  come.  Exclusive  of  this  item,  however,  I  believe 
it  would  require  very  little  self-denial  to  paper,  carpet, 
and  furnish  a  house  entirely  from  the  manufactures 
of  America.  I  cannot  help  saying  one  word  here  in 
favor  of  the  cabinet-makers  of  Boston.  There  is  so 
much  severity  of  taste,  such  a  style  and  manner  about 
the  best  made  Boston  furniture,  as  raises  it  really  quite 
into  the  region  of  the  fine  arts.  Our  artisans  have 
studied  foreign  models  with  judicious  eyes,  and  so 
transferred  to  our  country  the  spirit  of  what  is  best 
worth  imitating,  that  one  has  no  need  to  import  fur- 
niture from  Europe." 


What  can  be  got  in  America.  159 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Featherstone,  "there  is  one 
point  you  cannot  make  out,  —  gloves  ;  certainly  the 
French  have  the  monopoly  of  that  article." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ruin  my  cause  by  asserting  too 
much,"  said  I.  "  I  have  n't  been  with  nicely  dressed 
women  so  many  years  not  to  speak  with  proper  respect 
of  Alexander's  gloves,  —  and  I  confess,  honestly,  that 
to  forego  them  must  be  a  fair,  square  sacrifice  to 
patriotism.  But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  nev- 
ertheless true  that  gloves  have  long  been  made  in 
America  and  surreptitiously  brought  into  market  as 
French.  I  have  lately  heard  that  very  nice  kid  gloves 
are  made  at  Watertown  and  in  Philadelphia.  I  have 
only  heard  of  them,  and  not  seen.  A  loud  demand 
might  bring  forth  an  unexpected  supply  from  these 
and  other  sources.  If  the  women  of  America  were 
bent  on  having  gloves  made  in  their  own  country,  how 
long  would  it  be  before  apparatus  and  factories  would 
spring  into  being  ?  Look  at  the  hoop-skirt  factories, 
—  women  wanted  hoop-skirts,  —  would  have  them  or 
die,  —  and  forthwith -factories  arose,  and  hoop-skirts 
became  as  the  dust  of  the  earth  for  abundance." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Featherstone,  "  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  the  American  hoop-skirts  are  the  only  ones  fit 
to  wear.  When  we  were  living  on  the  Champs  Ely- 
sdes,  I  remember  we  searched  high  and  low  for  some- 
'thing  like  them,  and  finally  had  to  send  home  to 
America  for  some." 


160  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "that  shows  what  I  said.  Let 
there  be  only  a  hearty  call  for  an  article,  and  k  will 
come.  These  spirits  of  the  vasty  deep  are  not  so 
very  far  off,  after  all,  as  we  may  imagine,  and  women's 
unions  and  leagues  will  lead  to  inquiries  and  demands 
which  will  as  infallibly  bring  supplies  as  a  vacuum  will 
create  a  draught  of  air." 

"  But,  at  least,  there  are  no  ribbons  made  in  Amer- 
ica," said  Miss  Featherstone. 

"  Pardon,  my  lady,  there  is  a  ribbon-factory  now  in 
operation  in  Boston,  and  ribbons  of  every  color  are 
made  in  New  York ;  there  is  also  in  the  vicinity  of 
Boston  a  factory  which  makes  Roman  scarfs.  This 
shows  that  the  faculty  of  weaving?  ribbons  is  not  want- 
ing to  us  Americans,  and  a  zealous  patronage  would 
increase  the  supply. 

"Then,  as  for  a  thousand  and  one  little  feminine 
needs,  I  believe  our  manufacturers  can  supply  them. 
The  Portsmouth  Steam  Company  makes  white  spool- 
cotton  equal  to  any  in  England,  and  colored  spool- 
cotton,  of  every-  shade  and  variety,  such  as  is  not  made 
either  in  England  or  France.  Pins  are  well  made  in 
America ;  so  are  hooks  and  eyes,  and  a  variety  of 
buttons.  Straw  bonnets  of  American  manufacture  are 
also  extensively  in  market,  and  quite  as  pretty  ones  as 
the  double-priced  ones  which  are  imported. 

"As  to  silks  and  satins,  I  am  not  going  to  pretend 


What  can  be  got  in  America.  161 

that  they  are  to  be  found  here.  It  is  true,  there  are 
silk  manufactories,  like  that  of  the  Cheneys  in  Con- 
necticut, where  very  pretty  foulard  dress-silks  are 
made,  together  with  sewing-silk  enough  to  supply  a 
large  demand.  Enough  has  been  done  to  show  that 
silks  might  be  made  in  America ;  but  at  present,  as 
compared  with  Europe,  we  claim  neither  silks  nor 
thread  laces  among  our  manufactures. 

"  But  what  then  ?  These  are  not  necessaries  of  life. 
Ladies  can  be  very  tastefully  dressed  in  other  fabrics 
besides  silks.  There  are  many  pretty  American  dress- 
goods  which  the  leaders  of  fashion  might  make  fash- 
ionable ;  and  certainly  no  leader  of  fashion  "could  wish 
to  dress  for  a  nobler  object  than  to  aid  her  country  in 
deadly  peril. 

"  It  is  not  a  life-pledge,  not  a  total  abstinence,  that 
is  asked,  —  only  a  temporary  expedient  to  meet  a 
stringent  crisis.  We  only  ask  a  preference  for  Ameri- 
can goods  where  they  can  be  found.  Surely,  women 
whose  exertions  in  Sanitary  Fairs  have  created  an  era 
in  the  history  of  the  world  will  not  shrink  from  so 
small  a  sacrifice  for  so  obvious  a  good. 

"  Here  is  something  in  which  every  individual  wo- 
man can  help.  Every  woman  who  goes  into  a  shop 
and  asks  for  American  goods  renders  an  appreciable 
aid  to  our  cause.  She  expresses  her  opinion  and  her 
patriotism! ;  and  her  voice  forms  a  part  of  that  demand 


1 62  House  and  Home  Papers. 

which  shall  arouse  and  develop  the  resources  of  her 
country.  We  shall  learn  to  know  our  own  country. 
We  shall  learn  to  respect  our  own  powers,  —  and 
every  branch  of  useful  labor  will  spring  and  flourish 
under  our  well-directed  efforts.  We  shall  come  out 
of  our  great  contest,  not  bedraggled,  ragged,  and 
poverty-stricken,  but  developed,  instructed,  and  rich. 
Then  will  we  gladly  join  with  other  nations  in  the 
free  interchange  of  manufactures,  and  gratify  our  eye 
and  taste  with  what  is  foreign,  while  we  can  in  turn 
send  abroad  our  own  productions  in  equal  ratio." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Miss  Featherstone,  "  I 
should  think  it  was  the  Fourth  of  July,  —  but  I  yield 
the  point.  I  am  convinced  ;  and  henceforth  you  will 
see  me  among  the  most  stringent  of  the  leaguers." 

"  Right !  "  said  I. 

And,  fair  lady-reader,  let  me  hope  you  will  say  the 
same.  You  can  do  something  for  your  country,  —  it 
lies  right  in  your  hand.  Go  to  the  shops,  determined 
on  supplying  your  family  and  yourself  with  American 
goods.  Insist  on  having  them  ;  raise  the  question  of 
origin  over  every  article  shown  to  you.  In  the  Revo- 
lutionary times,  some  of  the  leading  matrons  of  New 
England  gave  parties  where  the  ladies  were  dressed  in 
homespun  and  drank  sage-tea.  Fashion  makes  all 
things  beautiful,  and  you,  my  charming  and  accom- 
plished friend,  can  create  beauty  by  creating  fashion. 


What  can  be  got  in  America.  163 

What  makes  the  beauty  of  half  the  Cashmere  shawls  ? 
Not  anything  in  the  shawls  themselves,  for  they  often 
look  coarse  and  dingy  and  barbarous.  It  is  the  asso- 
ciation with  style  and  fashion.  Fair  lady,  give  style 
and  fashion  to  the  products  of  your  own  country,  — 
resolve  that  the  money  in  your  hand  shall  go  to  your 
brave  brothers,  to  your  co-Americans,  now  straining 
every  nerve  to  uphold  the  nation,  and  cause  it  to 
stand  high  in  the  earth.  What  are  you  without  your 
country  ?  As  Americans  you  can  hope  for  no  rank 
but  the  rank  of  your  native  land,  no  badge  of  nobility 
but  her  beautiful  stars.  It  rests  with  this  conflict  to 
decide  whether-  those  stars  shall  be  badges  of  nobil- 
ity to  you  and  your  children  in  all  lands.  Women  of 
America,  your  country  expects  every  woman  to  do  her 
duty! 


VIII. 

ECONOMY. 

fact  is,"  said  Jenny,  as  she  twirled  a  little 
hat  on  her  hand,  which  she  had  been  making 
over,  with  nobody  knows  what  of  bows  and  pompons, 
and  other  matters  for  which  the  women  have  curious 
names,  — "  the  fact  is,  American  women  and  girls 
must  learn  to  economize  ;  it  is  n't  merely  restricting 
one's  self  to  American  goods,  it  is  general  economy, 
that  is  required.  Now  here  's  this  hat,  —  costs  me 
only  three  dollars,  all  told ;  and  Sophie  Page  bought 
an  English  one  this  morning  at  Madame  Meyer's  for 
which  she  gave  fifteen.  And  I  really  don't  think  hers 
has  more  of  an  air  than  mine.  I  made  this  over,  you 
see,  with  things  I  had  in  the  house,  bought  nothing 
but  the  ribbon,  and  paid  for  altering  and  pressing, 
and  there  you  see  what  a  stylish  hat  I  have  ! " 

"  Lovely !  admirable  !  "  said  Miss  Featherstone. 
"  Upon  my  word,  Jenny,  you  ought  to  marry  a  poor 
parson ;  you  would  be  quite  thrown  away  upon  a  rich 
man." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  I.     "  I  want  to  admire  intelli- 


Economy.  165 

gently.  That  is  n't  the  hat  you  were  wearing  yester- 
day '\ " 

"  O  no,  papa  !  This  is  just  done.  The  one  I  wore 
yesterday  was  my  waterfall-hat,  with  the  green  feather ; 
this,  you  see,  is  an  oriole." 

"A  what?" 

"An  oriole.  Papa,  how  can  you  expect  to  learn 
about  these  things  ? " 

"And  that  plain  little  black  one,  with  the  stiff  crop 
of  scarlet  feathers  sticking  straight  up  ? " 

"  That  's  my  jockey,  papa,  with  a  plume  en  mili- 
taire." 

"And  did  the  waterfall  and  the  jockey  cost  any- 
thing ? "  ' 

"  They  were  very,  very  cheap,  papa,  all  things 
considered.  Miss  Featherstone  will  remember  that 
the  waterfall  was  a  great  bargain,  and  I  had  the  feather 
from  last  year ;  and  as  to  the  jockey,  that  was  made 
out  of  my  last  year's  white  one,  dyed  over.  You  know, 
papa,  I  always  take  care  of  my  things,  and  they  last 
from  year  to  year." 

"  I  do  assure  you,  Mr.  Crowfield,"  said  Miss  Feath- 
erstone, "  I  never  saw  such  little  economists  as  your 
daughters ;  it  is  perfectly  wonderful  what  they  contrive 
to  dress  on.  How  they  manage  to  do  it  I  'm  sure  I 
can't  see.  I  never  could,  I  'm  convinced." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jenny,  "  I'  ve  bought  but  just  one  new 


1 66  House  and  Home  Papers. 

hat.  I  only  wish  you  could  sit  in  church  where  we 
do,  and  see  those  Miss  Fielders.  Marianne  and  I 
have  counted  six  new  hats  apiece  of  those  girls', — 
new,  you  know,  just  out  of  the  milliner's  shop  ;  and 
last  Sunday  they  came  out  in  such  lovely  puffed  tulle 
bonnets  !  Were  n't  they  lovely,  Marianne  ?  And  next 
Sunday,  I  don't  doubt,  there  '11  be  something  else." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Featherstone,  —  "  their  father, 
they  say,  has  made  a  million  dollars  lately  on  Govern- 
ment contracts." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Jenny,  "  I  think  such  extrava- 
gance, at  such  a  time  as  this,  is  shameful." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  I,  "  that  I  'm  quite  sure  the 
Misses  Fielder  think  they  are  practising  rigorous  econ- 
omy?" 

"  Papa  !  Now  there  you  are  with  your  paradoxes  ! 
How  can  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  be  afraid  to  bet  a  pair  of  gloves, 
now,"  said  I,  "  that  Miss  Fielder  thinks  herself  half 
ready  for  translation,  because  she  has  bought  only  six 
new  hats  and  a  tulle  bonnet  so  far  in  the  season.  If 
it  were  not  for  her  dear  bleeding  country,  she  would 
have  had  thirty-six,  like  the  Misses  Sibthorpe.  If  we 
were  admitted  to  the  secret  councils  of  the  Fielders, 
doubtless  we  should  perceive  what  temptations  they 
daily  resist ;  how  perfectly  rubbishy  and  dreadful  they 
suffer  themselves  to  be,  because  they  feel  it  important 


Economy.  167 

now,  in  this  crisis,  to  practise  economy ;  how  they 
abuse  the  Sibthorpes,  who  have  a  new  hat  every  time 
they  drive  out,  and  never  think  of  wearing  one  more 
than  two  or  three  times  ;  how  virtuous  and  self-deny- 
ing they  feel,  when  they  think  of  the  puffed  tulle,  for 
which  they  only  gave  eighteen  dollars,  when  Madame 
Caradori  showed  them  those  lovely  ones,  like  the 
Misses  Sibthorpe's,  for  forty-five ;  and  how  they  go 
home  descanting  on  virgin  simplicity,  and  resolving 
that  they  will  not  allow  themselves  to  be  swept  into 
the  vortex  of  extravagance,  whatever  other  people 
may  do." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Miss  Featherstone,  "  I  be- 
lieve your  papa  is  right  ?  I  was  calling  on  the  oldest 
Miss  Fielder  the  other  day,  and  she  told  me  that  she 
positively  felt  ashamed  to  go  looking  as  she  did,  but 
.that  she  really  did  feel  the  necessity  of  economy. 
*  Perhaps  we  might  afford  to  spend  more  than  some 
others,'  she  said  ;  '  but  it 's  so  much  better  to^give  the 
money  to  the  Sanitary  Commission  ! ' > 

"  Furthermore,"  said  I,  "  I  am  going,  to  put  forth 
another  paradox,  and  say  that  very  likely  there  are 
some  people  looking  on  my  girls,  and  commenting 
on  them  for  extravagance  in  having  three  hats,  even 
though  made  over,  and  contrived  from  last  year's 
stock." 

"They  can't  know  anything  about  it,  then,"  said 


1 68  House  and  Home  Papers. 

Jenny,  decisively ;  "  for,  certainly,  nobody  can  be 
decent,  and  invest  less  in  millinery  than  Marianne 
and  I  do." 

"  When  I  was  a  young  lady,"  said  my  wife,  "  a  well- 
dressed  girl  got  her  a  new  bonnet  in  the  spring,  and 
another  in  the  fall ;  —  that  was  the  extent  of  her  pur- 
chases in  this  line.  A  second-best  bonnet,  left  of  last 
year,  did  duty  to  relieve  and  preserve  the  best  one. 
My  father  was  accounted  well-to-do,  but  I  had  no 
more,  and  wanted  no  more.  I  also  bought  myself, 
every  spring,  two  pair  of  gloves,  a  dark  and  a  light 
pair,  and  wore  them  through  the  summer,  and  another 
two  through  the  winter ;  one  or  two  pair  of  white  kids, 
carefully  cleaned,  carried  me  through  all  my  parties. 
Hats  had  not  been  heard  of,  and  the  great  necessity 
which  requires  two  or  three  new  ones  every  spring 
and  fall  Had  not  arisen.  Yet  I  was  reckoned  a  well- 
appearing  girl,  who  dressed  liberally.  Now,  a  young 
lady  who  has  a  waterfall-hat,  an  oriole-hat,  and  a 
jockey,  must  still  be  troubled  with  anxious  cares  for 
her  spring  and  fall  and  summer  and  winter  bonnets, 
—  all  the  variety  will  not  take  the  place  of  them. 
Gloves  are  bought  by  the  dozen ;  and  as  to  dresses, 
there  seems  to  be  no  limit  to  the  quantity  of  mate- 
rial and  trimming  that  may  be  expended  upon  them. 
When  I  was  a  young  lady,  seventy-five  dollars  a  year 
was  considered  by  careful  parents  a  liberal  allowance 


Economy.  •   169 

for  a  daughter's  wardrobe.  I  had  a  hundred,  and  was 
reckoned  rich ;  and  I  sometimes  used  a  part  to  make 
up  the  deficiencies  in  the  allowance  of  Sarah  Evans, 
my  particular  friend,  whose  father  gave  her  only  fifty. 
We  all  thought  that  a  very  scant  allowance  ;  yet  she 
generally  made  a  very  pretty  and  genteel  appearance, 
with  the  help  of  occasional  presents  from  friends." 

"  How  could  a  girl  dress  for  fifty  dollars  ? "  said 
Marianne. 

"  She  could  get  a  white  muslin  and  a  white  cam- 
bric, which,  with  different  sortings  of  ribbons,  served 
her  for  all  dress-occasions.  A  silk,  in  those  days, 
took  only  ten  yards  in  the  making,  and  one  dark  silk 
was  considered  a  reasonable  allowance  to  a  lady's 
wardrobe.  Once  made,  it  stood  for  something, — 
always  worn  carefully,  it  lasted  for  years.  One  or  two 
calico  morning-dresses,  and  a  merino  for  winter  wear, 
completed  the  list  Then,  as  to  collars,  capes,  cuffs, 
etc.,  we  all  did  our  own  embroidering,  and  very  pretty 
things  we  wore,  too.  Girls  looked  as  prettily  then  as 
they  do  now,  when  four  or  five  hundred  dollars  a  year 
is  insufficient  to  clothe  them." 

"  But,  mamma,  you  know  our  allowance  is  n't  any- 
thing like  that,  —  it  is  quite  a  slender  one,  though  not 
so  small  as  yours  was,"  said  Marianne.  "  Don't  you 
think  the  customs  of  society  make  a  difference  ?  Do 
you  think,  as  things  are,  we  could  go  back  and  dress 

for  the  sum  you  did  ? " 
8 


170  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  You  cannot,"  said  my  wife,  "  without  a  greater 
sacrifice  of  feeling  than  I  wish  to  impose  on  you. 
Still,  though  I  don't  see  how  to  help  it,  I  cannot  but 
think  that  the  requirements  of  fashion  are  becoming 
needlessly  extravagant,  particularly  in  regard  to  the 
dress  of  women.  It  seems  to  me,  it  is  making  the 
support  of  families  so  burdensome  that  young  men 
are  discouraged  from  marriage.  A  young  man,  in  a 
moderately  good  business,  might  cheerfully  undertake 
the  world  with  a  wife  who  could  make  herself  pretty 
and  attractive  for  seventy-five  dollars  a  year,  when  he 
might  sigh  in  vain  for  one  who  positively  could  not 
get  through,  and  be  decent,  on  four  hundred.  Women, 
too,  are  getting  to  be  so  attached  to  the  trappings  and 
accessories  of  life,  that  they  cannot  think  of  marriage 
without  an  amount  of  fortune  which  few  young  men 
possess." 

"You  are  talking  in  very  low  numbers  about  the 
dress  of  women,"  said  Miss  Featherstone.  "  I  do 
assure  you  that  it  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  for 
a  girl  to  make  away  with  a  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
and  not  have  so  much  to  show  for  it  either  as  Mari- 
anne and  Jenny." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  I.  "  Only  establish  certain  for- 
mulas of  expectation,  and  it  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world.  For  instance,  in  your  mother's  day  girls  talked 
of  a  pair  of  gloves,  - —  now  they  talk  of  a  pack ;  then 


Economy.  171 

it  was  a  bonnet  summer  and  winter,  —  now  it  is  a  bon- 
net spring,  summer,  autumn,  and  winter,  and  hats  like 
monthly  roses,  —  a  new  blossom  every  few  weeks." 

"And  then,"  said  my  wife,  "every  device  of  the 
toilet  is  immediately  taken  up  and  varied  and  im- 
proved on,  so  as  to  impose  an  almost  monthly  neces- 
sity for  novelty.  The  jackets  of  May  are  outshone  by 
the  jackets  of  June  ;  the  buttons  of  June  are  anti- 
quated in  July  ;  the  trimmings  of  July  are  passees  by 
September ;  side-combs,  back-combs,  puffs,  rats,  and 
all  sorts  of  such  matters,  are  in  a  distracted  race  of 
improvement ;  every  article  of  feminine  toilet  is  on 
the  move  towards  perfection.  It  seems  to  me  that  an 
infinity  of  money  must  be  spent  in  these  trifles,  by 
those  who  make  the  least  pretension  to  keep  in  the 
fashion." 

"Well,  papa,"  said  Jenny,  "after  all,  it's  just  the 
way  things  always  have  been  since  the  world  began. 
You  know  the  Bible  says,  '  Can  a  maid  forget  her 
ornaments  ? '  It 's  clear  she  can't.  You  see,  it 's  a 
law  of  Nature  ;  and  you  remember  all  that  long  chap- 
ter in  the  Bible  that  we  had  read  in  church  last  Sun- 
day, about  the  curls  and  veils  and  tinkling  ornaments 
and  crimping-pins,  and  all  that  of  those  wicked  daugh- 
ters of  Zion  in  old  times.  Women  always  have  been 
too  much  given  to  dress,  and  they  always  will  be." 

"  The   thing   is,"    said    Marianne,    "  how   can   any 


172  House  and  Home  Papers. 

woman,  I,  for  example,  know  what  is  too  much  or 
too  little?  In  mamma's  day,  it  seems,  a  girl  could 
keep  her  place  in  society,  by  hard  economy,  and 
spend  only  fifty  dollars  a  year  on  her  dress.  Mam- 
ma found  a  hundred  dollars  ample.  I  have  more 
than  that,  and  find  myself  quite  straitened  to  keep 
myself  looking  well.  I  don't  want  to  live  for  dress, 
to  give  all  my  time  and  thoughts  to  it ;  I  don't  wish 
to  be  extravagant ;  and  yet  I  wish  to  be  lady-like ;  it 
annoys  and  makes  me  unhappy  not  to  be  fresh  and 
neat  and  nice  ;  shabbiness  and  seediness  are  my  aver- 
sion. I  don't  see  where  the  fault  is.  Can  one  indi- 
vidual resist  the  whole  current  of  society?  It  cer- 
tainly is  not  strictly  necessary  for  us  girls  to  have  half 
the  things  we  do.  We  might,  I  suppose,  live  without 
many  of  them,  and,  as  mamma  says,  look  just  as  well, 
because  girls  did  so  before  these  things  were  invented. 
Now,  I  confess,  I  flatter  myself,  generally,  that  I  am 
a  pattern  of  good  management  and  economy,  be- 
cause I  get  so  much  less  than  other  girls  I  associate 
with.  I  wish  you  could  see  Miss  Thome's  fall  dresses 
that  she  showed  me  last  year  when  she  was  visiting 
here.  She  had  six  gowns,  and  no  one  of  them  could 
have  cost  less  than  seventy  or  eighty  dollars,  and 
some  of  them  must  have  been  even  more  expensive; 
and  yet  I  don't  doubt  that  this  fall  she  will  feel  that 
she  must  have  just  as  many  more.  She  runs  through 


Economy.  i/3 

and  wears  out  these  expensive  things,  with  all  their 
velvet  and  thread  lace,  just  as  I  wear  my  commonest 
ones ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  season  they  are  really 
gone,  —  spotted,  stained,  frayed,  the  lace  all  pulled 
to  pieces,  —  nothing  left  to  save  or  make  over.  I 
feel  as  if  Jenny  and  I  were  patterns  of  economy, 
when  I  see  such  things.  I  really  don't  know  what 
economy  is.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  There  is  the  same  difficulty  in  my  housekeeping," 
said  my  wife.  "  I  think  I  am  an  economist.  I  mean 
to  be  one.  All  our  expenses  are  on  a  modest  scale, 
and  yet  I  can  see  much  that  really  is  not  strictly 
necessary  ;  but  if  I  compare  myself  with  some  of  my 
neighbors,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  hardly  respectable. 
There  is  no  subject  on  which  all  the  world  are  cen- 
suring one  another  so  much  as  this.  Hardly  any  one 
but  thinks  her  neighbors  extravagant  in  some  one  or 
more  particulars,  and  takes  for  granted  that  she  her- 
self is  an  economist." 

"I'll  venture  to  say,"  said  I,  "that  there  isn't  a 
woman  of  my  acquaintance  that  does  not  think  she 
is  an  economist." 

"  Papa  is  turned  against  us  women,  like  all  the  rest 
of  them,"  said  Jenny.  "  I  wonder  if  it  is  n't  just  so 
with  the  men?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Marianne,  "  it 's  the  fashion  to  talk  as 
if  all  the  extravagance  of  the  country  was  perpetrated 


1/4  House  and  Home  Papers. 

I 

by  women.  For  my  part,  I  think  young  men  are  just 
as  extravagant.  Look  at  the  sums  they  spend  for 
cigars  and  meerschaums, — an  expense  which  hasn't 
even  the  pretence  of  usefulness  in  any  way  ;  it 's  a 
purely  selfish,  nonsensical  indulgence.  When  a  girl 
spends  money  in  making  herself  look  pretty,  she  con- 
tributes something  to  the  agreeableness  of  society  ; 
but  a  man's  cigars  and  pipes  are  neither  ornamental 
nor  useful." 

"  Then  look  at  their  dress,"  said  Jenny  ;  "  they  are 
to  the  full  as  fussy  and  particular  about  it  as  girls  ; 
they  have  as  many  fine,  invisible  points  of  fashion, 
and  their  fashions  change  quite  as  often ;  and  they 
have  just  as  many  knick-knacks,  with  their  studs  and 
their  sleeve-buttons  and  waistcoat-buttons,  their  scarfs 
and  scarf-pins,  their  Avatch-chains  and  seals  and  seal- 
rings,  and  nobody  knows  what.  Then  they  often 
waste  and  throw  away  more  than  women,  because 
they  are  not  good  judges  of  material,  nor  saving  in 
what  they  buy,  and  have  no  knowledge  of  how  things 
should  be  cared  for,  altered,  or  mended.  If  their  cap 
is  a  little  too  tight,  they  cut  the  lining  with  a  pen- 
knife, or  slit  holes  in  a  new  shirt-collar,  because  it 
does  not  exactly  fit  to  their  mind.  For  my  part,  I 
think  men  are  naturally  twice  as  wasteful  as  women. 
A  pretty  thing,  to  be  sure,  to  have  all  the  waste  of  the 
country  laid  to  us  !  " 


Economy.  175 

"  You  are  right,  child,"  said  I ;  "  women  are  by 
nature,  as  compared  with  men,  the  care-taking  and 
saving  part  of  creation,  —  the  authors  and  conserva- 
tors of  economy.  As  a  general  rule,  man  earns  and 
woman  saves  and  applies.  The  wastefulness  of  wo- 
man is  commonly  the  fault  of  man." 

"  I  don't  see  into  that,"  said  Bob  Stephens. 

"  In  this  way.  Economy  is  the  science  of  propor- 
tion. Whether  a  particular  purchase  is  extravagant 
depends  mainly  on  the  income  it  is  taken  from.  Sup- 
pose a  woman  has  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year  for  her 
dress,  and  gives  fifty  dollars  for  a  bonnet ;  she  gives 
a  third  of  her  income  ; —  it  is  a  horrible  extravagance, 

while  for  the  woman  whose  income  is  ten  thousand  it 

i 

may  be  no  extravagance,  at  all.  The  poor  clergy- 
man's wife,  when  she  gives  five  "dollars  for  a  bonnet, 
may  be  giving  as  much,  in  proportion  to  her  income, 
as  the  woman  who  gives  fifty.  Now  the  difficylty 
with  the  greater  part  of  women  is,  that  the  men  who 
make  the  money  and  hold  it  give  them  no  kind  of 
standard  by  which  to  measure  their  expenses.  Most 
women  and  girls  are  in  this  matter  entirely  at  sea, 
without  chart  or  compass.  They  don't  know  in  the 
least  what  they  have  to  spend.  Husbands  and  fa- 
thers often  pride  themselves  about  not  saying  a  word 
on  business-matters  to  their  wives  and  daughters. 
They  don't  wish  them  to  understand  them,  or  to 


176  House  and  Home  Papers. 

inquire  into  them,  or  to  make  remarks  or  suggestions 
concerning  them.  'I  want  you  to  have  everything 
that  is  suitable  and  proper/  says  Jones  to  his  wife, 
'but  don't  be  extravagant.' 

"  '  But,  my  dear,'  says  Mrs.  Jones,  *  what  is  suitable 
and  proper  depends  very  much  on  our  means ;  if  you 
could  allow  me  any  specific  sum  for  dress  and  house- 
keeping, I  could  tell  better.' 

"  '  Nonsense,  Susan  !  I  can't  do  that,  —  it 's  too 
much  trouble.  Get  what  you  need,  and  avoid  foolish 
extravagances ;  that 's  all  I  ask.' 

"By  and  by  Mrs.  Jones's  bills  are  sent  in,  in  an 
evil  hour,  when  Jones  has  heavy  notes  to  meet,  and 
then  comes  a  domestic  storm. 

" '  I  shall  just  be  ruined,  Madam,  if  that 's  the  way 
you  are  going  on.  I  can't  afford  to  dress  you  and  the 
girls  in  the  style  you  have  set  up  ;  —  look  at  this  mil- 
liner's bill ! ' 

" 1 1  assure  you,'  says  Mrs.  Jones,  '  we  have  n't  got 
any  more  than  the  Stebbinses,  —  nor  so  much.' 

"'Don't  you  know  that  the  Stebbinses  are  worth 
five  times  as  much  as  ever  I  was?' 

"  No,  Mrs.  Jones  did  not  know  it ;  —  how  should 
she,  when  her  husband  makes  it  a  rule  never  to  speak 
of  his  business  to  her,  and  she  has  .not  the  remotest 
idea  of  his  income  ? 

"Thus   multitudes   of  good   conscientious   women 


Economy.  1 77 

and  girls  are  extravagant  from  pure  ignorance.  The 
male  provider  allows  bills  to  be  run  up  in  his  name, 
and  they  have  no  earthly  means  of  judging  whether 
they  are  spending  too  much  or  too  little,  except  the 
semi-annual  hurricane  which  attends  the  coming  in 
of  these  bills. 

"  The  first  essential  in  the  practice  of  economy  is  a 
knowledge  of  one's  income,  and  the  man  who  refuses 
to  accord  to  his  wife  and  children  this  information  has 
never  any  right  to  accuse  them  of  extravagance,  be- 
cause he  himself  deprives  them  of  that  standard  of 
comparison  which  is  an  indispensable  requisite  in 
economy.  As  early  as  possible  in  the  education  of 
children  they  should  pass  from  that  state  of  irrespon- 
sible waiting  to  be  provided  for  by  parents,  and  be 
trusted  with  the  spending  of  some  fixed  allowance, 
that  they  may  learn  prices  and  values,  and  have  some 
notion  of  what  money  is  actually  worth  and  what  it 
will  bring.  The  simple  fact  of  the  possession  of  a 
fixed  and  definite  income  often  suddenly  transforms 
a  giddy,  extravagant  girl  into  a  care-taking,  prudent 
little  woman.  Her  allowance  is  her  own  ;  she  begins 
to  plan  upon  it,  —  to  add,  subtract,  multiply,  divide, 
and  do  numberless  sums  in  her  little  head.  She  no 
longer  buys  everything  she  fancies  ;  she  deliberates, 
weighs,  compares.  And  now  there  is  room  for  self- 
denial  and  generosity  to  come  in.  She  can  do  with- 
8* 


178  House  and  Home  Papers. 

out  this  article  ;  she  can  furbish  .up  some  older  pos- 
session to  do  duty  a  little  longer,  and  give  this  money 
to  some  friend  poorer  than  she  ;  and '  ten  to  one  the 
girl  whose  bills  last  year  were  four  or  five  hundred 
finds  herself  bringing  through  this  year  creditably  on 
a  hundred  and  fifty.  To  be  sure,  she  goes  without 
numerous  things  which  she  used  to  have.  From  the 
stand-point  of  a  fixed  income  she  sees  that  these  are 
impossible,  and  no  more  wants  them  than  the  green 
cheese  of  the  moon.  She  learns  to  make  her  own 
taste  and  skill  take  the  place  of  expensive  purchases. 
She  refits"  her  hats  and  bonnets,  re  trims  her  dresses, 
and  in  a  thousand  busy,  earnest,  happy  little  ways,  sets 
herself  to  make  the  most  of  her  small  income. 

"  So  the  woman  who  has  her  definite  allowance  for 
housekeeping  finds  at  once  a  hundred  questions  set 
at  rest  Before,  it  was  not  clear  to  her  why  she  should 
not  '  go  and  do  likewise '  in  relation  to  every  purchase 
made  by  her  next  neighbor.  Now,  there  is  a  clear 
logic  of  proportion.  Certain  things  are  evidently  not 
to  be  thought  of,  though  next  neighbors  do  have 
them  ;  and  we  must  resign  ourselves  to  find  some 
other  way  of  living." 

"  My  dear,"  said  my  wife,  "  I  think  there  is  a  pe- 
culiar temptation  in  a  life  organized  as  ours  is  in 
America.  "  There  are  here  no  settled  classes,  with 
similar  ratios  of  income.  Mixed  together  in  the 


Economy.  \  79 

same  society,  going  to  the  same  parties,  and  blended 
in  daily  neighborly  intercourse,  are  families  of  the 
most  opposite  extremes  in  point  of  fortune.  In  Eng- 
land there  is  a  very  well  understood  expression,  that 
people  should  not  dress  or  live  above  their  station  ; 
in  America  none  will  admit  that  they  have  any  par- 
ticular station,  or  that  they  can  live  above  it.  The 
principle  of  democratic  equality  unites  in  society  peo- 
ple of  the  most  diverse  positions  and  means. 

"  Here,  for  instance,  is  a  family  like  Dr.  Selden's, 
an  old  and  highly  respected  one,  with  an  income  of 
only  two  or  three  thousand,  —  yet  they  are  people 
universally  sought  for  in  society,  and  mingle  in  all  the 
intercourse  of  life  with  merchant-mnlionnaires  whose 
incomes  are  from  ten  to  thirty  thousand.  Their  sons 
and  daughters  go  to  the  same  schools,  the  same  par- 
ties, and  are  thus  constantly  meeting  upon  terms  of 
social  equality. 

"  Now  it  seems  to  me  that  our  danger  does  not  lie 
in  the  great  and  evident  expenses  of  our  richer  friends. 
We  do  not  expect  to  have  pineries,  graperies,  equi- 
pages, horses,  diamonds,  —  we  say  openly  and  of 
course  that  we  do  not.  Still,  our  expenses  are  con- 
stantly increased  by  the  proximity  of  these  things, 
unless  we  understand  ourselves  better  than  most  peo- 
ple do.  We  don't  of  course,  expect  to  get  a  fifteen- 
hundred-dollar  Cashmere,  like  Mrs.  So-and-so,  but  we 


i8o  House  and  Home  Papers. 

begin  to  look  at  hundred-dollar  shawls  and  nibble 
about  the  hook.  We  don't  expect  sets  of  diamonds, 
but  a  diamond  ring,  a  pair  of  solitaire  diamond  ear- 
rings, begins  to  be  speculated  about  among  the  young 
people  as  among  possibilities.  We  don't  expect  to 
carpet  our  house  with  Axminster  and  hang  our  win- 
dows with  damask,  but  at  least  we  must  have  Brus- 
sels and  brocatelle,  —  it  would  not  do  not  to.  And 
so  we  go  on  getting  hundreds  of  things  that  we 
don't  need,  that  have  no  real  value  except  that  they 
soothe  our  self-love,  —  and  for  these  inferior  articles 
we  pay  a  higher  proportion  of  our  in  come,  than  our 
rich  neighbor  does  for  his  better  ones.  Nothing  is 
uglier  than  low-priced  Cashmere  shawls ;  and  yet  a 
young  man  just  entering  business  will  spend  an  eighth 
of  a  year's  income  to  put  one  on  his  wife,  and  when 
he  has  put  it  there  it  only  serves  as  a  constant  source 
of  disquiet,  —  for  now  that  the  door  is  opened,  and 
Cashmere  shawls  are  possible,  she  is  consumed  with 
envy  at  the  superior  ones  constantly  sported  around 
her.  So  also  with  point-lace,-  velvet  dresses,  and  hun- 
dreds of  things  of  that  sort,  which  belong  to  a  certain 
rate  of  income,  and  are  absurd  below  it." 

"  And  yet,  mamma,  I  heard  Aunt  Easygo  say  that 
velvet,  point-lace,  and  Cashmere  were  the  cheapest 
finery  that  could  be  bought,  because  they  lasted  a 
lifetime." 


Economy.  1 8 1 

"  Aunt  Easygo  speaks  from  an  income  of  ten  thou- 
sand a  year ;  they  may  be  cheap  for  her  rate  of  living, 
—  but  for  us,  for  example,  by  no  magic  of  numbers 
can  it  be  made  to  appear  that  it  is  cheaper  to  have 
the  greatest  bargain  in  the  world  in  Cashmere,  lace, 
and  diamonds,  than  not  to  have  them  at  all.  I  never 
had  a  diamond,  never  wore  a  piece  of  point-lace, 
never  had  a  velvet  dress,  and  have  been  perfectly 
happy,  and  just  as  much  respected  as  if  I  had.  Who 
ever  thought  of  objecting  to  me  for  not  having  them  ? 
Nobody,  as  I  ever  heard." 

"  Certainly  not,  mamma,"  said  Marianne. 

"  The  thing  I  have  always  said  to  you  girls  is,  that 
you  were  not  to  expect  to  live  like  richer  people,  not 
to  begin  to  try,  not  to  think  or  inquire  about  certain 
rates  of  expenditure,  or  take  the  first  step  in  certain 
directions.  We  have  moved  on  all  our  life  after  a 
very  antiquated  and  old-fashioned  mode.  We  have 
had  our  little  old-fashioned  house,  our  little  old-fash- 
ioned ways." 

"  Except  the  parlor-carpet,  and  what  came  of  it,  my 
dear,"  said  I,  mischievously. 

"  Yes,  except  the  parlor-carpet,"  said  my  wife,  with 
a  conscious  twinkle,  "  and  the  things  that  came  of  it ; 
there  was  a  concession  there,  but  one  can't  be  wise 
always." 

"  We  talked  mamma  into  that,"  said  Jenny. 


182  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  But  one  thing  is  certain,"  said  my  wife,  —  "  that, 
though  I  have  had  an  antiquated,  plain  house,  and 
plain  furniture,  and  plain  dress,  and  not  the  begin- 
ning of  a  thing  such  as  many  of  my  neighbors  have 
possessed,  I  have  spent  more  money  than  many  of 
them  for  real  comforts.  While  I  had  young  children, 
I  kept  more  and  better  servants  than  many  women 
who  wore  Cashmeres  and  diamonds.  I  thought  it 
better  to  pay  extra  wages  to  a  really  good,  trusty 
woman  who  lived  with  me  from  year  to  year,  and 
relieved  me  of  some  of  my  heaviest  family-cares, 
than  to  have  ever  so  much  lace  locked  away  in  my 
drawers.  We  always  were  able  to  go  into  the  coun- 
try to  spend  our  summers,  and  to  keep  a  good  family- 
horse  and  carriage  for  daily  driving, — by  which  means 
we  afforded,  as  a  family,  very  poor  patronage  to  the 
medical  profession.  Then  we  built  our  house,  and 
while  we  left  out  a  great  many  expensive  common- 
places that  other  people  think  they  must  have,  we 
put  in  a  profusion  of  bathing  accommodations  such 
as  very  few  people  think  of  having.  There  never 
was  a  time  when  we  did  not  feel  able  to  afford  to 
do  what  was  necessary  to  preserve  or  to  .restore 
health ;  and  for  this  I  always  drew  on  the  surplus 
fund  laid  up  by  my  very  unfashionable  housekeep- 
ing and  dressing." 

"  Your  mother  has  had,"  said  I,  "  what  is  the  great 


Economy.    .  183 

want  in  America,  perfect  independence  of  mind  to  go 
her  own  way  without  regard  to  the  way  others  go.  I 
think  there  is,  for  some  reason,  more  false  shame 
among  Americans  about  economy  than  among  Euro- 
peans. '  I  cannot  afford  it '  is  more  seldom  heard 
among  us.  A  young  man  beginning  life,  whose  in- 
come may  be  from  five  to  eight  hundred  a  year, 
thinks  it  elegant  and  gallant  to  affect  a  careless  air 
about  money,  especially  among  ladies,  —  to  hand  it 
out  freely,  and  put  back  his  change  without  counting 
it,  —  to  wear  a  watch-chain  and  studs  and  shirt-fronts 
like  those  of  some  young  millionnaire.  None  but  the 
most  expensive  tailors,  shoemakers,  and  hatters  will 
do  for  him  ;  and  then  he  grumbles  at  the  dearness  of 
living,  and  declares  that  he  cannot  get  along  on  his 
salary.  The  same  is  true  of  young  girls,  and  of  mar- 
ried men  and  women  too,  —  the  whole  of  them  are 
ashamed  of  economy.  The  cares  that  wear  out  life 
and  health  in  many  households  are  of  a  nature  that 
cannot  be  cast  on  God,  or  met  by  any  promise  from 
the  Bible,  —  it  is  not  care  for  '  food  convenient,'  or 
for  comfortable  raiment,  but  care  to  keep  up  false  ap- 
pearances, and  to  stretch  a  narrow  income  over  the 
space  that  can  be  covered  only  by  a  wider  one. 

"  The  poor  widow  in  her  narrow  lodgings,  with  her 
monthly  rent  staring  her  hourly  in  the  face,  and  her 
bread  and  meat  and  candles  and  meal  all  to  be  paid 


184  House  and  Home  Papers. 

for  on  delivery  or  not  obtained  at  all,  may  find  com- 
fort in  the  good  old  Book,  reading  of  that  other 
widow  whose  wasting  measure  of  oil  and  last  failing 
handful  of  meal  were  of  such  account  before  her 
Father  in  heaven  that  a  prophet  was  sent  to  recruit 
them  ;  and  when  customers  do  not  pay,  or  wages  are 
cut  down,  she  can  enter  into  her  chamber,  and  when 
she  hath  shut  her  door,  present  to  her  Father  in 
heaven  His  sure  promise  that  with  the  fowls  of  the 
air  she  shall  be  fed  and  with  the  lilies  of  the  field  she 
shall  be  clothed  :  but  what  promises  are  there  for  her 
who  is  racking  her  brains  on  the  ways  and  means  to 
provide  as  sumptuous  an  entertainment  of  oysters  and 
Champagne  at  her  next  party  as  her  richer  neighbor, 
or  to  compass  that  great  bargain  which  shall  give  her 
a  point-lace  set  almost  as  handsome  as  that  of  Mrs. 
Croesus,  who  has  ten  times  her  income  ? " 

"  But,  papa,"  said  Marianne,  with  a  twinge  of  that 
exacting  sensitiveness  by  which  the  child  is  character- 
ized, "  I  think  I  am  an  economist,  thanks  to  you  and 
mamma,  so  far  as  knowing  just  what  my  income  is, 
and  keeping  within  it ;  but  that  does  not  satisfy  me, 
and  it  seems  that  is  n't  all  of  economy  ;  —  the  ques- 
tion that  haunts  me  is,  Might  I  not  make  my  little  all 
do  more  and  better  than  I  do  ? ". 

"There,"  said  I,  "you  have  hit  the  broader  and 
deeper  signification  of  economy,  which  is,  in  fact,  the 


Economy.  185 

science  of  comparative  values.  In  its  highest  sense, 
economy  is  a  just  judgment  of  the  comparative  value 
of  things,  —  money  only  the  means  of  enabling  one 
to  express  that  value.  This  is  the  reason  why  the 
whole  matter  is  so  full  of  difficulty,  —  why  every  one 
criticises  his  neighbor  in  this  regard.  Human  beings 
are  so  various,  the  necessities  of  each  are  so  different, 
they  are  made  comfortable  or  uncomfortable  by  such 
opposite  means,  that  the  spending  of  other  people's 
incomes  must  of  necessity  often  look  unwise  from 
our  stand-point  For  this  reason  multitudes  of  peo- 
ple who  cannot  be  accused  of  exceeding  their  in- 
comes often  seem  to  others  to  be  spending  them  fool- 
ishly and  extravagantly." 

"  But  is  there  no  standard  of  value  ? "  said  Mari- 
anne. 

"There  are  certain  things  upon  which  there  is  a 
pretty  general  agreement,  verbally,  at  least,  among 
mankind.  For  instance,  it  is  generally  agreed  that 
health  is  an  indispensable  good, —  that  money  is  well 
spent  that  secures  it,  and  worse  than  ill  spent  that 
ruins  it. 

"  With  this  standard  in  mind,  how  much  money  is 
wasted  even  by  people  who  do  not  exceed  their  in- 
come !  Here  a  man  builds  a  house,  and  pays,  in 
the  first  place,  ten  thousand  more  than  he  need,  for  a 
location  in  a  fashionable  part  of  the  city,  though  the 


1 86  House  and  Home  Papers. 

air  will  be  closer  and  the  chances  of  health  less ;  he 
spends  three  or  four  thousand  more  on  a  stone  front, 
on  marble  mantles  imported  from  Italy,  on  plate-glass 
windows,  plated  hinges,  and  a  thousand  nice  points 
of  finish,  and  has  perhaps  but  one  bath-room  for  a 
whole  household,  and  that  so  connected  with  his 
own  apartment  that  nobody  but  himself  and  his  wife 
can  use  it. 

"  Another  man  buys  a  lot  in  an  open,  airy  situation, 
which  fashion  has  not  made  expensive,  and  builds 
without  a  stone  front,  marble  mantels,  or  plate-glass 
windows,  but  has  a  perfect  system  of  ventilation 
through  his  house,  and  bathing-rooms  in  every  story, 
so  that  the  children  and  guests  may  all,  without  in- 
convenience, enjoy  the  luxury  of  abundant  water. 

"  The  first  spends  for  fashion  and  show,  the  second 
for  health  and  comfort. 

"  Here  is  a  man  that  will  buy  his  wife  a  diamond 
bracelet  and  a  lace  shawl,  and  take  her  yearly  to 
Washington  to  show  off  her  beauty  in  ball-dresses, 
who  yet  will  not  let  her  pay  wages  which  will  com- 
mand any  but  the  poorest  and  most  inefficient  domes- 
tic service.  The  woman  is  worn  out,  her  life  made  a 
desert  by  exhaustion  consequent  on  a  futile  attempt  to 
keep  up  a  showy  establishment  with  only  half  the 
hands  needed  for  the  purpose.  Another  family  will 
give  brilliant  parties,  have  a  gay  season  every  year  at 


Economy.  187 

the  first  hotels  at  Newport,  and  not  be  able  to  afford 
the  wife  a  fire  in  her  chamber  in  midwinter,  or  the 
servants  enough  food  to  keep  them  from  constantly 
deserting.  The  damp,  mouldy,  dingy  cellar-kitchen, 
the  cold,  windy,  desolate  attic,  devoid  of  any  comfort, 
where  the  domestics  are  doomed  to  pass  their  whole 
time,  are  witnesses  to  what  such  families  consider 
economy.  Economy  in  the  view  of  some  is  undis- 
guised slipshod  slovenliness  in  the  home-circle  for 
the  sake  of  fine  clothes  to  be  shown  abroad;  it  is 
undisguised  hard  selfishness  to  servants  and  depend- 
ants, counting  their  every  approach  to  comfort  a 
needless  waste,  —  grudging  the  Roman-Catholic  cook 
her  cup  of  tea  at  dinner  on  Friday,  when  she  must 
not  eat  meat,  —  and  murmuring  that  a  cracked,  sec- 
ond-hand looking-glass  must  be  got  for  the  servants' 
room  :  what  business  have  they  to  want  to  know  how 
they  look  ? 

"  Some  families  will  employ  the  cheapest  physician, 
without  regard  to  his  ability  to  kill  or  cure ;  some  will 
treat  diseases  in  their  incipiency  with  quack  med- 
icines, bought  cheap,  hoping  thereby  to  fend  off  the 
doctor's  bill.  Some  women  seem  to  be  pursued  by  an 
evil  demon  of  economy,  which,  like  an  ignis  fatuus  in 
a  bog,  delights  constantly  to  tumble  them  over  into 
the  mire  of  expense.  They  are  dismayed  at  the  quan- 
tity of  sugar  in  the  recipe  for  preserves,  leave  out  a 


1 88  House  and  Home  Papers. 

quarter,  and  the  whole  ferments  and  is  spoiled.  They 
cannot  by  any  means  be  induced  at  any  one  time  to 
buy  enough  silk  to  make  a  dress,  and  the  dress  finally, 
after  many  convulsions  and  alterations,  must  be  thrown 
by  altogether,  as  too  scanty.  They  get  poor  needles, 
poor  thread,  poor  sugar,  poor  raisins,  poor  tea,  poor 
coal.  One  wonders,  in  looking  at  their  blackened, 
smouldering  grates,  in  a  freezing  day,  what  the  fire  is 
there  at  all  for,  —  it  certainly  warms  nobody.  The 
only  thing  they  seem  likely  to  be  lavish  in  is  funeral 
expenses^  which  come  in  the  wake  of  leaky  shoes  and 
imperfect  clothing.  These  funeral  expenses  at  last 
swallow  all,  since  nobody  can  dispute  an  undertaker's 
bill.  One  pities  these  joyless  beings.  Economy,  in- 
stead of  a  rational  act  of  the  judgment,  is  a  morbid 
monomania,  eating  the  pleasure  out  of  life,  and  haunt- 
ing them  to  the  grave. 

"  Some  people's  ideas  of  economy  seem  to  run  sim- 
ply in  the  line  of  eating.  Their  flour  is  of  an  extra 
brand,  their  meat  the  first  cut ;  the  delicacies  of  every 
season,  in  their  dearest  stages,  come  home  to  their 
table  with  an  apologetic  smile,  — '  It  was  scanda- 
lously dear,  my  love,  but  I  thought  we  must  just  treat 
ourselves.'  And  yet  these  people  cannot  afford  to 
buy  books,  and  pictures  they  regard  as  an  unthought- 
of  extravagance.  Trudging  home  with  fifty  dollars' 
worth  of  delicacies  on  his  arm,  Smith  meets  Jones, 


Economy.  1 89 

who  is  exulting  with  a  bag  of  crackers  under  one  arm 
and  a  choice  little  bit  of  an  oil  painting  under  the 
other,  which  he  thinks  a  bargain  at  fifty  dollars.  '  / 
can't  afford  to  buy  pictures,'  Smith  says  to  his  spouse, 
'  and  I  don't  know  how  Jones  and  his  wife  manage.' 
Jones  and  his  wife  will  live  on  bread  and  milk  for  a 
month,  and  she  will  turn  her  best  gown  the  third  time, 
but  they  will  have  their  picture,  and  they  are  happy. 
Jones's  picture  remains,  and  Smith's  fifty  dollars'  worth 
of  oysters  and  canned  fruit  to-morrow  will  be  gone 
forever.  Of  all  modes  of  spending  money,  the  swal- 
lowing of  expensive  dainties  brings  the  least  return. 
There  is  one  step  lower  than  this,  —  the  consuming 
of  luxuries  that  are  injurious  to  the  health.  If  all  the 
money  spent  on  tobacco  and  liquors  could  be  spent 
in  books  and  pictures,  I  predict  that  nobody's  health 
would  be  a  whit  less  sound,  and  houses  would  be 
vastly  more  attractive.  There  is  enough  money  spent 
in  smoking,  drinking,  and  over-eating  to  give  every 
family  in  the  community  a  good  library,  to  hang  every- 
body's parlor-walls  with  lovely  pictures,  to  set  up  in 
every  house  a  conservatory  which  should  bloom  all 
winter  with  choice  flowers,  to  furnish  every  dwelling 
with  ample  bathing  and  warming  accommodations, 
even  down  to  the  dwellings  of  the  poor ;  and  in  the 
millennium  I  believe  this  is  the  way  things  are  to  be. 
"  In  these  times  of  peril  and  suffering,  if  the  inquiry 


190  House  and  Home  Papers. 

arises,  How  shall  there  be  retrenchment  ?  I  answer, 
First  and  foremost  retrench  things  needless,  doubtful, 
and  positively  hurtful,  as  rum,  tobacco,  and  all  the 
meerschaums  of  divers  colors  that  do  accompany  the 
same.  Second,  retrench  all  eating  not  necessary  to 
health  and  comfort.  A  French  family,  would  live  in 
luxury  on  the  leavings  that  are  constantly  coming  from 
the  tables  of  those  who  call  themselves  in  middling 
circumstances.  There  are  superstitions  of  the  table 
that  ought  to  be  broken  through.  Why  must  you 
always  have  cake  in  your  closet  ?  why  need  you  feel 
undone  to  entertain  a  guest  with  no  cake  on  your  tea- 
table  ?  Do  without  it  a  year,  and  ask  yourselves  if 
you  or  your  children,  or  any  one  else,  have  suffered 
materially  in  consequence. 

"  Why  is  it  imperative  that  you  should  have  two  or 
three  courses  at  every  meal  ?  Try  the  experiment  of 
having  but  one,  and  that  a  very  good  one,  and  see  if 
any  great  amount  of  suffering  ensues.  Why  must 
social  intercourse  so  largely  consist  in  eating  ?  In 
Paris  there  is  a  very  pretty  custom.  Each  family  has 
one  evening  in  the  week  when  it  stays  at  home  and 
receives  friends.  Tea,  with  a  -little  bread  and  butter 
and  cake,  served  in  the  most  informal  way,  is  the 
only  refreshment.  The  rooms  ^are  full,  busy,  bright, 
—  everything  as  easy  and  joyous  as  if  a  monstrous 
supper,  with  piles  of  jelly  and  mountains  of  cake, 


Economy.  191 

were  waiting  to  give  the  company  a  nightmare  at  the 
close. 

"  Said  a  lady,  pointing  to  a  gentleman  and  his  wife 
in  a  social  circle  of  this  kind,  '  I  ought  to  know  them 
well3  —  I  have  seen  them  every  week  for  twenty  years.' 
It  is  certainly  pleasant  and  confirmative  of  social  enjoy- 
ment for  friends  to  eat  together ;  but  a  little  enjoyed 
in  this  way  answers  the  purpose  as  well  as  a  great 
deal,  and  better  too." 

"Well,  papa,"  said  Marianne,  "in  the  matter  of 
dress  now,  —  how  much  ought  one  to  spend  just  to 
look  as  others  do  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  saw  the  other  night,  girls, 
in  the  parlor  of  one  of  our  hotels.  Two  middle-aged 
Quaker  ladies  came  gliding  in,  with  calm,  cheerful 
faces,  and  lustrous  dove-colored  silks.  By  their  con- 
versation I  found  that  they  belonged  to  that  class  of 
women  among  the  Friends  who  cjevote  themselves  to 
travelling  on  missions  of  benevolence.  They  had  just 
completed  a  tour  of  all  the  hospitals  for  wounded  sol- 
diers in  the  country,  where  they  had  been  carrying 
comforts,  arranging,  advising,  and  soothing  by  their 
cheerful,  gentle  presence.  They  were  now  engaged 
on  another  mission,  to  the  lost  and  erring  of  their  own 
sex ;  night  after  night,  guarded  by  a  policeman,  they 
had  ventured  after  midnight  into  the  dance-houses 
where  girls  are  being  led  to  ruin,  and  with  gentle 


192  House  and  Home  Papers. 

words  of  tender,  motherly  counsel  sought  to  win  them 
from  their  fatal  ways, — telling  them  where  they  might 
go  the  next  day  to  find  friends  who  would  open  to 
them  an  asylum  and  aid  them  to  seek  a  better  life. 

"As  I  looked  upon  these  women,  dressed  with  such 
modest  purity,  I  began  secretly  to  think  that  the 
Apostle  was  not  wrong,  when  he  spoke  of  women 
adorning  themselves  with  the  ornament  of  a  meek 
-and  quiet  spirit ;  for  the  habitual  gentleness  of  their 
expression,  the  calmness  and  purity  of  the  lines  in 
their  faces,  the  delicacy  and  simplicity  of  their  apparel, 
seemed  of  themselves  a  rare  and  peculiar  beauty. 
I  could  not  help  thinking  that  fashionable  bonnets, 
flowing  lace  sleeves,  and  dresses  elaborately  trimmed 
could  not  have  improved  even  their  outward  appear- 
ance. Doubtless,  their  simple  wardrobe  needed  but 
a  small  trunk  in  travelling  from  place  to  place,  and 
hindered  but  little  their  prayers  and  ministrations. 

"  Now,  it  is  true,  all  women  are  not  called  to  such 
a  life  as  this  ;  but  might  not  all  women  take  a  leaf  at 
least  from  their  book  ?  I  submit  the  inquiry  humbly. 
It  seems  to  me  that  there  are  many  who  go  monthly 
to  the  sacrament,  and  receive  it  with  sincere  devotion, 
and  who  give  thanks  each  time  sincerely  that  they  are 
thus  made  '  members  incorporate  in  the  mystical  body 
of  Christ,'  who  have  never  thought  of  this  membership 
as  meaning  that  they  should  share  Christ's  sacrifices 


Economy.  193 

for  lost  souls,  or  abridge  themselves  of  one  ornament 
or  encounter  one  inconvenience  for  the  sake  of  those 
wandering  sheep  for  whom  he  died.  Certainly  there 
is  a  higher  economy  which  we  need  to  learn,  —  that 
which  makes  all  things  subservient  to  the  spiritual  and 
immortal,  and  that  not  merely  to  the  good  of  our  own 
souls  and  those  of  our  family,  but  of  all  who  are  knit 
with  us  in  the  great  bonds  of  human  brotherhood. 

"  There'  have  been  from  time  to  time,  among  well- 
meaning  Christian  people,  retrenchment  societies  on 
high  moral  grounds,  which  have  failed  for  want  of 
knowledge  how  to  manage  the  complicated  question 
of  necessaries  and  luxuries.  These  words  have  a  sig- 
nification in  the  case  of  different  people  as  varied  as 
the  varieties  of  human  habit  and  constitution.  It  is  a 
department  impossible  to  be  bound  by  external  rules ; 
but  none  the  less  should  every  high-minded  Christian 
soul  in  this  matter  have  a  law  unto  itself.  It  may 
safely  be  laid  down  as  a  general  rule,  that  no  income, 
however  large  or  however  small,  should  be  unblessed 
by  the  divine  touch  of  self-sacrifice.  Something  for 
the  poor,  the  sorrowing,  the  hungry,  the  tempted,  and 
the  weak  should  be  taken  from  what  is  our^own  at  the 
expense  of  some  personal  sacrifice,  or  we  suffer  more 
morally  than  the  brother  from  whom  we  withdraw  it. 
Even  the  Lord  of  all,  when  dwelling  among  men,  out 
of  that  slender  private  purse  which  he  accepted  for 
9 


194          .    House  and  Home  Papers. 

his  little  family  of  chosen  ones,  had  ever  something 
reserved  to  give  to  the  poor.  It  is  easy  to  say,  '  It 
is  but  a  drop  in  the  bucket.  I  cannot  remove  the 
great  mass  of  misery  in  the  world.  What  little  I  could 
save  or  give  does  nothing.'  It  does  this,  if  no  more, 
—  it  prevents  one  soul,  and  that  soul  your  own,  from 
drying  and  hardening  into  utter  selfishness  and  insen- 
sibility ;  it  enables  you  to  say  I  have  done  something  \ 
taken  one  atom  from  the  great  heap  of  sins  and  mis- 
eries and  placed  it  on  the  side  of  good. 

"The  Sisters  of  Charity  and  the  Friends,  each  with 
their  different  costume  of  plainness  and  self-denial, 
and  other  noble-hearted  women  of  no  particular  out- 
ward order,  but  kindred  in  spirit,  have  shown  to 
womanhood,  on  the  battle-field  and  in  the  hospital, 
a  more  excellent  way,  —  a  beauty  and  nobility  before 
which  all  the  common  graces  and  ornaments  of  the 
sex  fade,  appear  like  dim  candles  by  the  pure,  eternal 
stars." 


IX. 

SERVANTS. 

IN  the  course  of  my  papers  various  domestic  revo- 
lutions have  occurred.  Our  Marianne  has  gone 
from  us  with  a  new  name  to  a  new  life,  and  a  modest 
little  establishment  not  many  squares  off  claims  about 
as  much  of  my  wife's  and  Jenny's  busy  thoughts  as 
those  of  the  proper  mistress. 

Marianne,  as  I  always  foresaw,  is  a  careful  and 
-  somewhat  anxious  housekeeper.  Her  tastes  are  fas- 
tidious ;  she  is  made  for  exactitude  :  the  smallest 
departures  from  the  straight  line  appear  to  her  shock- 
ing deviations.  She  had  always  lived  in  a  house 
where  everything  had  been  formed  to  quiet  and  order 
under  the  ever-present  care  and  touch  of  her  mother  ; 
nor  had  she  ever  participated  in  these  cares  more  than 
to  do  a  little  dusting  of  the  parlor  ornaments,  or  wash 
the  best  china,  or  make  sponge-cake  or  chocolate- 
caramels.  Certain  conditions  of  life  had  always  ap- 
peared so  to  be  matters  of  course  that  she  had  never 
conceived  of  a  house  without  them.  It  never  occurred 
to  her  that  such  bread  and  biscuit  as  she  saw  at  the 


196  House  and  Home  Papers. 

home-table  would  not  always  and  of  course  appear  at 
every  table,  —  that  the  silver  would  not  always  be  as 
bright,  the  glass  as  clear,  the  salt  as  fine  and  smooth, 
the  plates  and  dishes  as  nicely  arranged  as  she  had 
always  seen  them,  apparently  without  the  thought  or 
care  of  any  one,  —  for  my  wife  is  one  of  those  house- 
keepers whose  touch  is  so  fine  that  no  one  feels  it. 
She  is  never  heard  scolding  or  reproving,  —  never 
entertains  her  company  with  her  recipes  for  cookery 
or  the  faults  of  her  servants.  She  is  so  unconcerned 
about  receiving  her  own  personal  share  of  credit  for 
the  good  appearance  of  her  establishment,  that  even 
the  children  of  the  house  have  not  supposed  that  there 
is  any  particular  will  of  hers  in  the  matter,  —  it  all 
seems  the  natural  consequence  of  having  very  good 
servants. 

One  phenomenon  they  had  never  seriously  reflected 
on,  —  that,  under  all  the  changes  of  the  domestic  cab- 
inet which  are  so  apt  to  occur  in  American  households, 
the  same  coffee,  the  same  bread  and  biscuit,  the  same 
nicely  prepared  dishes  and  neatly  laid  table  always 
gladdened  their  eyes ;  and  from  this  they  inferred  only 
that  good  servants  were  more  abundant  than  most 
people  had  supposed.  They  were  somewhat  surprised 
when  these  marvels  were  wrought  by  professedly  green 
hands,  but  were  given  to  suppose  that  these  green 
hands  must  have  had  some  remarkable  quickness  or 


Servants.  \  97 

aptitude  for  acquiring.  That  sparkling  jelly,  well-fla- 
vored ice-creams,  clear  soups,  and  delicate  biscuits 
could  be  made  by  a  raw  Irish  girl,  fresh  from  her 
native  Erin,  seemed  to  them  a  proof  of  the  genius  of 
the  race  ;  and  my  wife,  who  never  felt  it  important  to 
attain  to  the  reputation  of  a  cook,  quietly  let  it  pass. 

For  some  time,  therefore,  after  the  inauguration  of 
the  new  household,  there  was  trouble  in  the  camp. 
Sour  bread  had  appeared  on  the  table,  —  bitter,  acrid 
coffee  had  shocked  and  astonished  the  palate,  —  lint 
had  been  observed  on  tumblers,  and  the  spoons  had 
sometimes  dingy  streaks  on  the  brightness  of  their 
first  bridal  polish,  —  beds  were  detected  made  shock- 
ingly awry,  —  and  Marianne  came  burning  with  indig- 
nation to  her  mother. 

"  Such  a  little  family  as  we  have,  and  two  strong 
girls,"  said  she,  —  "  everything  ought  to  be  perfect  j 
there  is  really  nothing  to  do.  Think  of  a  whole  batch 
of  bread  absolutely  sour  !  and  when  I  gave  that  away, 
then  this  morning  another  exactly  like  it !  and  when  I 
talked  to  cook  about  it,  she  said  she  had  lived  in 
this  and  that  family,  and  her  bread  had  always  been 
praised  as  equal  to  the  baker's  ! " 

"  I  don't  doubt  she  is  right,"  said  I.  "  Many  fam- 
ilies never  have  anything  but  sour  bread  from  one  end 
of  the  year  to  the  other,  eating  it  unperceiving,  and 
with  good  cheer  ;  and  they  buy  also  sour  bread  of  the 


198  Hotise  and  Home  Papers. 

baker,  with  like  approbation,  —  lightness  being  in 
their  estimation  the  only  virtue  necessary  in  the  ar- 
ticle." 

"  Could  you  not  correct  her  fault  ? "  suggested  my 
wife.. 

"  I  have  done  all  I  can.  I  told  her  we  could  not 
have  such  bread,  that  it  was  dreadful;  Bob  says  it 
would  give  him  the  dyspepsia  in  a  week ;  and  then 
she  went  and  made  exactly  the  same ;  —  it  seems  to 
me  mere  wilfulness." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  suppose,  instead  of  such  general 
directions,  you  should  analyze  her  proceedings  and 
find  out  just  where  she  makes  her  mistake,  —  is  the 
root  of  the  trouble  in  the  yeast,  or  in  the  time  she 
begins  it,  letting  it  rise  too  long  ?  —  the  time,  you 
know,  should  vary  so  much  with  the  temperature  of 
the  weather." 

"As  to  that,"  said  Marianne,  "I  know  nothing.  I 
never  noticed ;  it  never  was  my  business  to  make 
bread ;  it  always  seemed  quite  a  simple  process,  mix- 
ing yeast  and  flour  and  kneading  it ;  and  our  bread  at 
home  was  always  good." 

"It  seems,  then,  my  dear,  that  you  have  come  to 
your  profession  without  even  having  studied  it." 

My  wife  smiled,  and  said,  — 

"  You  know,  Marianne,  I  proposed  to  you  to  be  our 
family  bread-maker  for  one  month  of  the  year  before 
you  married." 


Servants.  199 

"  Yes,  mamma,  I  remember ;  but  I  was  like  other 
girls ;  I  thought  there  was  no  need  of  it.  I  never 
liked  to  do  such  things  ;  perhaps  I  had  better  have 
done  it." 

"You  certainly  had,"  said  I ;  "for  the  first  business 
of  a  housekeeper  in  America  is  that  of  a  teacher. 
She  can  have  a  good  table  only  by  having  practical 
knowledge,  and  tact  in  imparting  it.  If  she  under- 
stands her  business  practically  and  experimentally, 
her  eye  detects  at  once  the  weak  spot;  it  requires 
only  a  little  tact,  some  patience,  some  clearness  in 
giving  directions,  and  all  comes  right.  I  venture  to 
say  that  your  mother  would  have  exactly  such  bread 
as  always  appears  on  our  table,  and  have  it  by  the 
hands  of  your  cook,  because  she  could  detect  and 
explain  to  her  exactly  her  error." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  my  wife,  "  what  yeast  she 
uses  ? " 

"  I  believe,"  said  Marianne,  "  it 's  a  kind  she  makes 
herself.  I  think  I  heard  her  say  so.  I  know  she 
makes  a  great  fuss  about  it,  and  rather  values  •her- 
self upon  it.  She  is  evidently  accustomed  to  being 
praised  for  her  bread,  and  feels  mortified  and  angry, 
and  I  don't  know  how  to  manage  her." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "if  you  carry  your  watch  to  a 
watchmaker,  and  undertake  to  show  him  how  to 
regulate  the  machinery,  he  laughs  and  goes  on  his 


2OO         ,      House  and  Home  Papers. 

own  way;  but  if  a  brother-machinist  makes  sugges- 
tions, he  listens  respectfully.  So,  when  a  woman  who 
knows  nothing  of  woman's  work  undertakes  to  in- 
struct one  who  knows  more  than  she  does,  she  makes 
no  impression ;  but  a  woman  who  has  been  trained 
experimentally,  and  shows  she  understands  the  matter 
thoroughly,  is  listened  to  with  respect." 

"I  think,"  said  my  wife,  "that  your  Bridget  is  worth 
teaching.  She  is  honest,  well-principled,  and  tidy. 
She  has  good  recommendations  from  excellent  fam- 
ilies, whose  ideas  of  good  bread  it  appears  differ  from 
ours  ;  and  with  a  little  good-nature,  tact,  and  patience, 
she  will  come  into  your  ways." 

"  But  the  coffee,  mamma,  —  you  would  not  imagine 
it  to  be  from  the  same  bag  with  your  own,  so  dark 
and  so  bitter ;  what  do  you  suppose  she  has  done 
to  it?" 

"  Simply  this,"  said  my  wife.  "  She  has  let  the 
berries  stay  a  few  moments  too  long  over  the  fire, — 
they  are  burnt,  instead  of  being  roasted;  and  there 
are  people  who  think  it  essential  to  good  coffee  that 
it  should  look  black,  and  have  a  strong,  bitter  flavor. 
A  very  little  change  in  the  preparing  will  alter  this." 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  Marianne,  if  you  want  my  advice, 
I  '11  give  it  to  you  gratis  :  —  Make  your  own  bread  for 
one  month.  Simple  as  the  process  seems,  I  think  it 
will  take  as  long  as  that  to  give  you  a  thorough  knowl- 


Servants.     .  2O I 

edge  of  all  the  possibilities  in  the  case ;  but  after  that 
you  will  never  need  to  make  any  more,  —  you  will  be 
able  to  command  good  bread  by  the  aid  of  all  sorts 
of  servants ;  you  will,  in  other  words,  be  a  thoroughly 
prepared  teacher." 

"  I  did  not  think,"  said  Marianne,  "  that  so  simple 
a  thing  required  so  much  attention." 

"  It  is  simple,"  said  my  wife,  "  and  yet  requires  a 
delicate  care  and  watchfulness.  There  are  fifty  ways 
to  spoil  good  bread  ;  there  are  a  hundred  little  things 
to  be  considered  and  allowed  for  that  require  accurate 
observation  and  experience.  The  same  process  that 
will  raise  good  bread  in  cold  weather  will  make  sour 
bread  in  the  heat  of  summer ;  different  qualities  of 
flour  require  variations  in  treatment,  as  also  different 
sorts  and  conditions  of  yeast ;  and  when  all  is  done, 
the  baking  presents  another  series  of  possibilities 
which  require  exact  attention." 

"So  it  appears,"  said  Marianne,  gayly,  "that  I  must 
begin  to  study  my  profession  at  the  eleventh  hour." 

"Better  late  than  never,"  said  I.  "But  there  is 
this  advantage  on  your  side :  a  well-trained  mind, 
accustomed  to  reflect,  analyze,  and  generalize,  has  an 
advantage  over  uncultured  minds  even  of  double  ex- 
perience. Poor  as  your  cook  is,  she  now  knows  more 
of  her  business  than  you  do.  After  a  very  brief 
period  of  attention  and  experiment,  you  will  not  only 
9* 


2O2  House  and  Home  Papers. 

know  more  than  she  does,  but  you  will  convince  her 
that  you  do,  which  is  quite  as  much  to  the  purpose." 

"  In  the  same  manner,"  said  my  wife,  "  you  will 
have  to  give  lessons  to  your  other  girl  on  the  washing 
of  silver  and  the  making  of  beds.  Good  servants  do 
not  often  come  to  us  ;  they  must  be  made  by  .patience 
and  training  ;  and  if  a  girl  has  a  good  disposition  and 
a  reasonable  .degree  of  handiness,  and  the  house- 
keeper understands  her  profession,  she  may  make  a 
good  servant  out  of  an  indifferent  one.  Some  of  my 
best  girls  have  been  those  who  came  to  me  directly 
from  the  ship,  with  no  preparation  but  docility  and 
some  natural  quickness.  The  hardest  cases  to  be 
managed  are  not  of  those  who  have  been  taught  noth- 
ing, but  of  those  who  have  been  taught  wrongly,  — 
who  come  to  you  self-opinionated,  with  ways  which 
are  distasteful  to  you,  and  contrary  to  the  genius  of 
your  housekeeping.  Such  require  that  their  mistress 
shall  understand  at  least  so  much  of  the  actual  con- 
duct of  affairs  as  to  prove  to  the  servant  that  there  are 
better  ways  than  those  in  which  she  has  hitherto  been 
trained." 

"  Don't  you  think,  mamma,"  said  Marianne,  "  that 

there  has  been  a  sort  -  of  reaction   against  woman's 

/  work  in  our  day  ?  '  So  much  has  been  said  of  the 

,  higher  sphere  of  woman,  and  so  much  has  been  done 

to  find  some  better  work  for  her,  that  insensibly,  I 


Servants.  203 

think,  almost  everybody  begins  to  feel  that  it  is  rather ' 
degrading  for  a  woman  in  good  society  to  be  much^ 
tied  down  to  family  affairs."  ) 

"  Especially,"  said  my  wife,  "  since  in  these  Wo- 
man's-Rights  Conventions  there  is  so  much  indigna- 
tion expressed  at  those  who  would  confine  her  ideas 
to  the  kitchen  and  nursery." 

"There  is  reason  in  all  things,"  said  I.  "Woman's- 
Rights  Conventions  are  a  protest  against  many  former 
absurd,  unreasonable  ideas,  —  the  mere  physical  and 
culinary  idea  of  womanhood  as  connected  only  with 
puddings  and  shirt-buttons,  the  unjust  and  unequal 
burdens  which  the  laws  of  harsher  ages  had  cast  upon 
the  sex.  Many  of  the  women  connected  with  these 
movements  are  as  superior  in  everything  properly 
womanly  as  they  are  in  exceptional  talent  and  cul- 
ture. There  is  no  manner  of  doubt  that  the  sphere 
of  woman  is  properly  to  be  enlarged,  and  that  re- 
publican governments  in  particular  are  to  be  saved 
from  corruption  and  failure  only  by  allowing  to  woman 
this  enlarged  sphere.  Every  woman  has  rights  as  a 
human  being  first,  which  belong  to  no  sex,  and 
ought  to  be  as  freely  conceded  to  her  as  if  she  were 

a  man,  —  and  first  and  foremost,  the  great  right  of 

• 
doing  anything  which  God  and  Nature  evidently  have 

fitted  her  to  excel   in.     If  she   be  made  a  natural 
orator,  like  Miss  Dickenson,  or  an  astronomer,  like 


2O4  House  and  Home  Papers. 

Mrs.  Somerville,  or  a  singer,  like  Grisi,  let  not  the 
technical  rules  of  womanhood  be  thrown  in  the  way 
of  her  free  use  of  her  powers.  Nor  can  there  be 
any  reason  shown  why  a  woman's  vote  in  the  state 
should  not  be  received  with  as  much  respect  as  in 
the  family.  A  state  is  but  an  association  of  families, 
and  laws  relate  to  the  rights  and  immunities  which 
touch  woman's  most  private  and  immediate  wants 
and  dearest  hopes  ;  and  there  is  no  reason  why  sister, 
wife,  and  mother  should  be  more  powerless  in  the 
state  than  in  the  home.  Nor  does  it  make  a  woman 
unwomanly  to  express  an  opinion  by  dropping  a  slip 
of  paper  into  a  box,  more  than  to  express  that  same 
opinion  by  conversation.  In  fact,  there  is  no  doubt, 
that,  in  all  matters  relating  to  the  interests  of  educa- 
tion, temperance,  and  religion,  the  state  would  be  a 
material  gainer  by  receiving  the  votes  of  women. 

"But,  having  said  all  this,  I  must  admit, per  contra, 
not  only  a  great  deal  of  crude,  disagreeable  talk  in 
these  conventions,  but  a  too  great  tendency  of  the 
age  to  make  the  education  of •  women  anti-domestic. 
It  seems  as  if  the  world  never  could  advance,  except 
like  ships  under  a  head-wind,  tacking  and  going  too 
far,  now  in  this  direction,  and  now  in  the  opposite. 
Our  common-school  system  now  rejects  sewing  from 
the  education  of  girls,  which  very  properly  used 
to  occupy  many  hours  daily  in  school  a  generation 


Servants.  20$ 

ago.  Th^"  daughters  of  laborers  and  artisans  are 
put  through  algebra,  geometry,  trigonometry,  and  the 
higher  mathematics,  to  the  entire  neglect  of  that 
learning  which  belongs  distinctively  to  woman.  A 
girl  cannot  keep  pace  with  her  class,  if  she  gives 
any  time  to  domestic  matters;  and  accordingly  she 
is  excused  from  them  all  during  the  whole  term  of 
her  education.  The  boy  of  a  family,  at  an  early  age, 
is  put  to  a  trade,  or  the  labors  of  a  farm ;  the  father 
becomes  impatient  of  his  support,  and  requires  of 
him  to  care  for  himself.  Hence  an  interrupted  educa- 
tion, —  learning  coming  by  snatches  in  the  winter 
months  or  in  the  intervals  of  work.  As  the  result, 
the  females  in  our  country  towns  are  commonly,  in 
mental  culture,  vastly  in  advance  of  the  males  of 
the  same  household  ;  but  with  this  comes  a  physical 
delicacy,  the  result  of  an  exclusive  use  of  the  brain 
and  a  neglect  of  the  muscular  system,  with  great 
inefficiency  in  practical  domestic  duties.  The  race 
of  strong,  hardy,  cheerful  girls,  that  used  to  grow  up 
in  country  places,  and  made  the  bright,  neat,  New 
England  kitchens  of  old  times,  —  the  girls  that  could 
wash,  iron,  brew,  bake,  harness  a  horse  and  drive  him, 
no  less  than  braid  straw,  embroider,  draw,  paint,  and 
read  innumerable  books,  —  this  race  of  women,  pride 
of  olden  time,  is  daily  lessening ;  and  in  their  stead 
come  the  fragile,  easily  fatigued,  languid  girls  of  a 


206  House  and  Home  Papers. 

modern  age,  drilled  in  book-learning,  i^horant  of 
common  things.  The  great  danger  of  all  this,  and 
of  the  evils  that  come  from  it,  is  that  society  by  and 
by  will  turn  as  blindly  against  female  intellectual 
culture  as  it  now  advocates  it,  and,  having  worked 
disproportionately  one  way,  will  work  disproportion- 
ately in  the  opposite  direction." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  my  wife,  "  that  domestic  service 
is  the  great  problem  of  life  here  in  America;  the 
happiness  of  families,  their  thrift,  well-being,  and 
comfort,  are  more  affected  by  this  than  by  any  one 
thing  else.  Our  girls,  as  they  have  been  brought 
up,  cannot  perform  the  labor  of  their  own  families, 
as  in  those  simpler,  old-fashioned  days  you  tell  of; 
and  what  is  worse,  they  have  no  practical  skill  with 
which  to  instruct  servants,  and  servants  come  to  us, 
as  a  class,  raw  and  untrained ;  so  what  is  to  be  done  ? 
In  the  present  state  of  prices,  the  board  of  a  domestic 
costs  double  her  wages,  and  the  waste  she  makes  is 
a  more  serious  matter  still.  Suppose  you  give  us  an 
article  upon  this  subject  in  your  '  House  and  Home 
Papers.'  You  could  not  have  a  better  one." 

So  I  sat  down,  and  wrote  thus  on 

SERVANTS  AND  SERVICE. 

MANY  of  the  domestic  evils  in  America  originate 
in  the  fact,  that,  while  society  here  is-  professedly 


Servants.  207 

based  on  fiew  principles  which  ought  to  make  social 
life  in  every  respect  different  from  the  life  of  the 
Old  World,  yet  these  principles  have  never  been  so 
thought  out  and  applied  as  to  give  consistency  and 
harmony  to  our  daily  relations.  America  starts  with 
a  political  organization  based  on  a  declaration  of  the 
primitive  freedom  and  equality  of  all  men.  Every 
human  being,  according  to  this  principle,  stands  on 
the  same  natural  level  with  every  other,  and  has  the 
same  chance  to  rise  according  to  the  degree  of  power 
or  capacity  given  by  the  Creator.  All  our  civil  in- 
stitutions are  designed  to  preserve  this  equality,  as 
far  as  possible,  from  generation  to  generation  :  there 
is  no  entailed  property,  there  are  no  hereditary  titles, 
no  monopolies,  no  privileged  classes,  —  all  are  to  be 
as  free  to  rise  and  fall  as  the  waves  of  the  sea. 

The  condition  of  domestic  service,  however,  still 
retains  about  it  something  of  the  influences  from 
feudal  times,  and  from  the  near  presence  of  slavery 
in  neighboring  States.  All  English  literature,  all  the 
literature  of  the  world,  describes  domestic  service  in 
the  old  feudal  spirit  and  with  the  old  feudal  language, 
which  regarded  the  master  as  belonging  to  a  privi- 
leged class  and  the  servant  to  an  inferior  one.  There  • 
is  not  a  play,  not  a  poem,  not  a  novel,  not  a  history, 
that  does  not  present  this  view.  The  master's  rights, 
like  the  rights  of  kings,  were  supposed  to  rest  in  his 


208  House  and  Home  Papers. 

being  born  in  a  superior  rank.  The  good  servant 
was  one  who,  from  childhood,  had  learned  "  to  order 
himself  lowly  and  reverently  to  all  his  betters."  When 
New  England  brought  to  these  shores  the  theory  of 
democracy,  she  brought,  in  the  persons  of  the  first 
pilgrims,  the  habits  of  thought  and  of  action  formed 
in  aristocratic  communities.  Winthrop's  Journal,  and 
all  the  old  records  of  the  earlier  colonists,  show 
households  where  masters  and  mistresses  stood  on 
the  "  right  divine  "  of  the  privileged  cjasses,  howso- 
ever they  might  have  risen  up  against  authorities 
themselves. 

The  first  consequence  of  this  state  of  things  was 
a  universal  rejection  of  domestic  service  in  all  classes 
of  American-born  society.  For  a  generation  or  two, 
there  was,  indeed,  a  sort  of  interchange  of  family 
strength,  —  sons  and  daughters  engaging  in  the  ser- 
vice of  neighboring  families,  in  default  of  a  sufficient 
working-force  of  their  own,  but  always  on  conditions 
of  strict  equality.  The  assistant  was  to  share  the 
table,  the  family  sitting-room,  and  every  honor  and 
attention  that  might  be  claimed  by  son  or  daughter. 
When  families  increased  in  refinement  and  education 
so  as  to  make  these  conditions  of  close  intimacy 
with  more  uncultured  neighbors  disagreeable,  they 
had  to  choose  between  such  intimacies  and  the  per- 
formance of  their  own  domestic  toil.  No  wages 


Servants.  209 

could  induce  a  son  or  daughter  of  New  England  to 
take  the  condition  of  a  servant  on  terms  which  they 
thought  applicable  to  that  of  a  slave.  The  slightest 
hint  of  a  separate  table  was  resented  as  an  insult ; 
not  to  enter  the  front-door,  and  not  to  sit  in  the  front- 
parlor  on  state-occasions,  was  bitterly  commented  on 
as  a  personal  indignity. 

The  well-taught,  self-respecting  daughters  of  farm- 
ers, the  class  most  valuable  in  domestic  service,  gradu- 
ally retired  from  it.  They  preferred  any  other  em- 
ployment, however  laborious.  Beyond  all  doubt,  the 
labors  of  a  well-regulated  family  are  more  healthy, 
more  cheerful,  more  interesting,  because  less  monoto- 
nous, than  the  mechanical  toils  of  a  factory;  yet 
the  girls  of  New  England,  with  one  consent,  preferred 
the  factory,  and  left  the  whole  business  of  domestic 
service  to  a  foreign  population  ;  and  they  did  it  mainly 
because  they  would  not  take  positions  in  families  as 
an  inferior  laboring-class  by  the  side  of  others  of 
their  own  age  who  assumed  as  their  prerogative  to 
live  without  labor. 

"  I  can't  let  you  have  one  of  my  daughters,"  said 
an  energetic  matron  to  her  neighbor  from  the  city, 
who  was  seeking  for  a  servant  in  her  summer  vaca- 
tion ;  "  if  you  had  n't  daughters  of  your  own,  maybe 
I  would ;  but  my  girls  ain't  going  to  work  so  that  your 
girls  may  live  in  idleness." 


2io  House  and  Home  Papers. 

It  was  vain  to  offer  money.  "  We  don't  need  your 
money,  ma'am,  we  can  support  ourselves  in  other 
ways  ;  my  girls  can  braid  straw,  and  bind  shoes,  but 
they  ain't  going  to  be  slaves  to  anybody." 

In  the  Irish  and  German  servants  who  took  the 
place  of  Americans  in  families,  there  was,  to  begin 
with,  the  tradition  of  education  in  favor  of  a  higher 
class  ;  but  even  the  foreign  population  became  more 
or  less  infected  with  the  spirit  of  democracy.  They 
came  to  this  country  with  vague  notions  of  freedom 
and  equality,  and  in  ignorant  and  uncultivated  people 
such  ideas  are  often  more  unreasonable  for  being 
vague.  They  did  not,  indeed,  claim  a  seat  at  the 
table  and  in  the  parlor,  but  they  repudiated  many 
of  those  habits  of  respect  and  courtesy  which  be- 
longed to  their  former  condition,  and  asserted  their 
own  will  and  way  in  the  round,  unvarnished  phrase 
which  they  supposed  to  be  their  right  as  republican 
citizens.  Life  became  a  sort  of  domestic  wrangle  and 
struggle  between  the  employers,  who  secretly  confessed 
their  weakness,  but  endeavored  openly  to  assume  the 
air  and  bearing  of  authority,  and  the  employed,  who 
knew  their  power  and  insisted  on  their  privileges. 
From  this  cause  domestic  service  in  America  has 
had  less  of  mutual  kindliness  than  in  old  countries. 
Its  terms  have  been  so  ill  understood  and  denned 
that  both  parties  have  assumed  the  defensive  ;  and 


Servants.  2 1 1 

a  common  topic  of  conversation  in  American  female 
society  has  often  been  the  general  servile  war  which 
in  one  form  or  another  was  going  on  in  their  different 
families,  —  a  war  as  interminable  as  would  be  a  strug- 
gle between  aristocracy  and  common  people,  unde- 
fined by  any  bill  of  rights  or  constitution,  and  there- 
fore opening  fields  for  endless  disputes.  In  England, 
the  class  who  go  to  service  are  a  class,  and  service  is 
a  profession  ;  the  distance  between  them  and  their 
employers  is  so  marked  and  defined,  and  all  the  cus- 
toms and  requirements  of  the  position  are  so  perfectly 
understood,  that  the  master  or  mistress  has  no  fear  of 
being  compromised  by  condescension,  and  no  need  of 
the  external  voice  or  air  of  authority.  The  higher  up 
in  the  social  scale  one  goes,  the  more  courteous  seems 
to  become  the  intercourse  of  master  and  servant ;  the 
more  perfect  and  real  the  power,  the  more  is  it  veiled 
in  outward  expression,  —  commands  are  phrased  as 
requests,  and  gentleness  of  voice  and  manner  covers 
an  authority  which  no  one  would  think  of  offending 
without  trembling. 

But  in  America  all  is  undefined.  In  the  first  place, 
there  is  no  class  who  mean  to  make  domestic  service  a 
profession  to  live  and  die  in.  It  is  universally  an  ex- 
pedient, a  stepping-stone  to  something  higher ;  your 
best  servants  always  have  something  else  in  view  as 
soon  as  they  have  laid  by  a  little  money ;  some  form  of 


212  House  and  Home  Papers. 

independence  which  shall  give  them  a  home  of  their 
own  is  constantly  in  mind.  Families  look  forward  to 
the  buying  of  landed  homesteads,  and  the  scattered 
brothers  and  sisters  work  awhile  in  domestic  service 
to  gain  the  common  fund  for  the  purpose  ;  your  seam- 
stress intends  to  become  a  dress-maker,  and  take  in 
work  at  her  own  house  ;  your  cook  is  pondering  a 
marriage  with  the  baker,  which  shall  transfer  her  toils 
from  your  cooking-stove  to  her  own.  Young  women 
are  eagerly  rushing  into  e.very  other  employment,  till 
female  trades  and  callings  are  all  overstocked.  We 
are  continually  harrowed  with  tales  of  the  sufferings 
of  distressed  needle-women,  of  the  exactions  and  ex- 
tortions practised  on  the  frail  sex  in  the  many  branches 
of  labor  and  trade  at  which  they  try  their  hands  ;  and 
yet  women  will  encounter  all  these  chances  of  ruin 
and  starvation  rather  than  make  up  their  minds  to 
permanent  domestic  service.  Now  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  domestic  service  ?  One  would  think,  on  the 
face  of  it,  that  a  calling  which  gives  a  settled  home,  a 
comfortable  room,  rent-free,  with  fire  and  lights,  good 
board  and  lodging,  and  steady,  well-paid  wages,  would 
certainly  offer  more  attractions  than  the  making  of 
shirts  for  tenpence,  with  all  the  risks  of  providing 
one's  own  sustenance  and  shelter. 

I  think  it  is  mainly  from  the  want  of  a  definite  idea 
of  the  true  position  of  a  servant  under  our  democratic 


Servants.  213 

institutions  that  domestic  service  is  so  shunned  and 
avoided  in  America,  that  it  is  the  very  last  thing  which 
an  intelligent  young  woman  will  look  to  for  a  living. 
It  is  more  the  want  of  personal  respect  toward  those 
in  that  position  than  the  labors  incident  to  it  which 
repels  our  people  from  it.  Many  would  be  willing  to 
perform  these  labors,  but  they  are  not  willing  to  place 
themselves  in  a  situation  where  their  self-respect  is 
hourly  wounded  by  the  implication  of  a  degree  of  infe- 
riority which  does  not  follow  any  kind  of  labor  or  service 
in  this  country  but  that  of  the  family. 

There  exists  in  the  minds  of  employers  an  unsus- 
pected spirit  of  superiority,  which  is  stimulated  into 
an  active  form  by  the  resistance  which  democracy  in- 
spires in  the  working-class.  Many  families  think  of 
servants  only  as  a  necessary  evil,  their  wages  as  exac- 
tions, and  all  that  is  allowed  them  as  so  much  taken 
from  the  family ;  and  they  seek  in  every  way  to  get 
from  them  as  much  and  to  give  them  as  little  as  pos- 
sible. Their  rooms  are  the  neglected,  ill-furnished, 
incommodious  ones,  —  and  the  kitchen  is  the  most 
cheerless  and  comfortless  place  in  the  house.  Other 
families,  more  good-natured  and  liberal,  provide  their 
domestics  with  more  suitable  accommodations,  and 
are  more  indulgent ;  but  there  is  still  a  latent  spirit 
of  something  like  contempt  for  the  position.  That 
they  treat  their  servants  with  so  much  consideration 


214  House  and  Home  Papers. 

seems  to  them  a  merit  entitling  them  to  the  most 
prostrate  gratitude  ;  and  they  are  constantly  disap- 
pointed and  shocked  at  that  want  of  sense  of  infe- 
riority on  the  part  of  these  people  which  leads  them 
to  appropriate  pleasant  rooms,  good  furniture,  and 
good  living  as  mere  matters  of  common  justice. 

It  seems  to  be  a  constant  surprise  to  some  em- 
ployers that  servants  should  insist  on  having  the  same 
human  wants  as  themselves.  Ladies  who  yawn  in  their 
elegantly  furnished  parlors,  among  books  and  pictures, 
if  they  have  not  company,  parties,  or  opera  to  diversify 
the  evening,  seem  astonished  and  half  indignant  that 
cook  and  chambermaid  are  more  disposed  to  go  out 
for  an  evening  gossip  than  to  sit  on  hard  chairs  in  the 
kitchen  where  they  have  been  toiling  all  day.  The 
pretty  chambermaid's  anxieties  about  her  dress,  the 
time  she  spends  at  her  small  and  not  very  clear  mir- 
ror, are  sneeringly  noticed  by  those  whose  toilet-cares 
take  up  serious  hours  ;  and  the  question  has  never 
apparently  occurred  to  them  why  a  serving-maid 
should  not  want  to  look  pretty  as  well  as  her  mis- 
tress. She  is  a  woman  as  well  as  they,  with  all  a 
woman's  wants  and  weaknesses  ;  and  her  dress  is  as 
much  to  her  as  theirs  to  them. 

A  vast  deal  of  trouble  among  servants  arises  from 
impertinent  interferences  and  petty  tyrannical  exac- 
tions on  the  part  of  employers.  Now  the  authority  of 


Servants.  2 1 5 

the  master  and  mistress  of  a  house  in  regard  to  their 
domestics  extends  simply  to  the  things  they  haVe  con- 
tracted to  do  and  the  hours  during  which  they  have 
contracted  to  serve  ;  otherwise  than  this,  they  have  no 
more  right  to  interfere  with  them  in  the  disposal  of 
their  time  than  with  any  mechanic  whom  they  employ. 
They  have,  indeed,  a  right  to  regulate  the  hours  of 
their  own  household,  and  servants  can  choose  be- 
tween conformity  to  these  hours  and  the  loss  of  their 
situation  •  but,  within  reasonable  limits,  their  right  to 
come  and  go  at  their  own  discretion,  in  their  own  time, 
should  be  unquestioned. 

If  employers  are  troubled  by  the  fondness  of  their 
servants  for  dancing,  evening  company,  and  late  hours, 
the  proper  mode  of  proceeding  is  to  make  these  mat- 
ters a'subject  of  distinct  contract  in  hiring.  The  more 
strictly  and  perfectly  the  business  matters  of  the  first 
engagement  of  domestics  are  conducted,  the  more 
likelihood  there  is  of  mutual  quiet  and  satisfaction  in 
the  relation.  It  is  quite  competent  to  every  house- 
keeper to  say  what  practices  are  or  are  not  consistent 
with  the  rules  of  her  family,  and  what  will  be  incon- 
sistent with  the  service  for  which  she  agrees  to  pay. 
It  is  much  better  to  regulate  such  affairs  by  cool  con- 
tract in  the  outset  than  by  warm  altercations  and 
protracted  domestic  battles. 

As  to  the  terms  of  social  intercourse,  it  seems  some- 


2i6  House  and  Home  Papers. 

how  to  be  settled  in  the  minds  of  many  employers 
that  their  servants  owe  them  and  their  family  more 
respect  than  they  and  the  family  owe  to  the  servants. 
But  do  they  ?  What  is  the  relation  of  servant  to  em- 
ployer in  a  democratic  country  ?  Precisely  that  of  a 
person  who  for  money  performs  any  kind  of  service 
for  you.  The  carpenter  comes  into  your  house  to 
put  up  a  set  of  shelves,  —  the  cook  comes  into  your 
kitchen  to  cook  your  dinner.  You  never  think  that 
the  carpenter  owes  you  any  more  respect  than  you 
owe  to  him  because  he  is  in  your  house  doing  your 
behests  ;  he  is  your  fellow-citizen,  you  treat  him  with 
respect,  you  expect  to  be  treated  with  respect  by  him. 
You  have  a  claim  on  him  that  he  shall  do  your  work 
according  to  your  directions,  —  no  more.  Now  I  ap- 
prehend that  there  is  a  very  common  notion  as  to  the 
position  and  rights  of  servants  which  is  quite  different 
from  this.  Is  it  not  a  common  feeling  that  a  servant 
is  one  who  may  be  treated  with  a  degree  of  freedom 
by  every  member  of  the  family  which  he  or  she  may 
not  return  ?  Do  not  people  feel  at  liberty  to  question 
servants  about  their  private  affairs,  to  comment  on 
their  dress  and  appearance,  in  a  manner  which  they 
would  feel  to  be  an  impertinence,  if  reciprocated  ? 
Do  they  not  feel  at  liberty  to  express  dissatisfaction 
with  their  performances  in  rude  and  unceremonious 
terms,  to  reprove  them  in  the  presence  of  company, 


Servants.  217 

while  yet  they  require  that  the  dissatisfaction  of  ser- 
vants shall  be  expressed  only  in  terms  of  respect? 
A  woman  would  not  feel  herself  at  liberty  to  talk  to 
her  milliner  or  her  dressmaker  in  language  as  devoid 
of  consideration  as  she  will  employ  towards  her  cook 
or  chambermaid.  Yet  both  are  rendering  her  a  ser- 
vice which  she  pays  for  in  money,  and  one  is  no  more 
made  her  inferior  thereby  than  the  other.  Both  have 
an  equal  right  to  be  treated  with  courtesy.  The  mas- 
ter and  mistress  of  a  house  have  a  right  to  require 
respectful  treatment  from  all  whom  their  roof  shelters ; 
but  they  have  no  more  right  to  exact  it  of  servants 
than  of  every  guest  and  every  child,  and  they  them- 
selves owe  it  as  much  to  servants  as  to  guests. 

In  order  that  servants  may  be  treated  with  respect 
and  courtesy,  it  is  not  necessary,  as  in  simpler  patri- 
archal days,  that  they  sit  at  the  family-table.  Your 
carpenter  or  plumber  does  not  feel  hurt  that  you  do 
not  ask  him  to  dine  with  you,  nor  your  milliner  and 
mantua-maker  that  you  do  not  exchange  ceremonious 
calls  and  invite  them  to  your  parties.  It  is  well  un- 
derstood that  your  relations  with  them  are  of  a  mere 
business  character.  They  never  take  it  as  an  assump- 
tion of  superiority  on  your  part  that  you  do  not  admit 
them  to  relations  of  private  intimacy.  There  may  be 
the  most  perfect  respect  and  esteem  and  even  friend- 
ship between  them  and  you,  notwithstanding.  So  it 

10 


2i8  House  and  Home  Papers. 

may  be  in  the  case  of  servants.  It  is  easy  to  make 
any  person  understand  that  there  are  quite  other  rea- 
sons than  the  assumption  of  personal  superiority  for 
not  wishing  to  admit  servants  to  the  family  privacy. 
It  was  not,  in  fact,  to  sit  in  the  parlor  or  at  the  table, 
in  themselves  considered,  that  was  the  thing  aimed  at 
by  New  England  girls,  —  these  were  valued  only  as 
signs  that  they  were  deemed  worthy  of  respect  and 
consideration,  and,  where  freely  conceded,  were  often 
in  point  of  fact  declined. 

Let  servants  feel,  in  their  treatment  by  their  em- 
ployers, and  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  family,  that  their 
position  is  held  to  be  a  respectable  one,  let  them  feel 
in  the  mistress  of  the  family  the  charm  of  unvarying 
consideration  and  good  manners,  let  their  work-rooms 
be  made  convenient  and  comfortable,  and  their  pri- 
vate apartments  bear  some  reasonable  comparison  in 
point  of  agreeableness  to  those  of  other  members  of 
the  family,  and  domestic  service  will  be  more  fre- 
quently sought  by  a  superior  and  self-respecting  class. 
There  are  families  in  which  such  a  state  of  things  pre- 
vails ;  and  such  families,  akdd  the  many  causes  which 
unite  to  make  the  tenure  of  service  uncertain,  have 
generally  been  able  to  keep  good  permanent  servants. 

There  is  an  extreme  into  which  kindly  disposed 
people  often  run  with  regard  to  servants,  which  may 
be  mentioned  here.  They  make  pets  of  them.  They 


Servants.  219 

give  extravagant  wages  and  indiscreet  indulgences, 
and,  through  indolence  and  easiness  of  temper,  tol- 
erate neglect  of  duty.  Many  of  the  complaints  of 
the  ingratitude  of  servants  come  from  those  who  have 
spoiled  them  in  this  way ;  while  many  of  the  longest 
and  most  harmonious  domestic  unions  have  sprung 
from  a  simple,  quiet  course  of  Christian  justice  and 
benevolence,  a  recognition  of  servants  as  fellow-beings 
and  fellow-Christians,  and  a  doing  to  them  as  we  would 
in  like  circumstances  that  they  should  do  to  us. 

The  mistresses  of  American  families,  whether  they 
like  it  or  not,  have  the  duties  of  missionaries  imposed 
upon  them  by  that  class  from  which  our  supply  of 
domestic  servants  is  drawn.  They  may  as  well  accept 
the  position  cheerfully,  and,  as  one  raw,  untrained 
hand  after  another  passes  through  their  family,  and 
is  instructed  by  them  in  the  mysteries  of  good  house- 
keeping, comfort  themserves  with  the  reflection  that 
they  are  doing  something  to  form  good  wives  and 
mothers  for  the  Republic. 

The  complaints  made  of  Irish  girls  are  numerous 
and  loud;  the 'failings  of  green  Erin,  alas!  are  but 
too  open  and  manifest ;  yet,  in  arrest  of  judgment,  let 
us  move  this  consideration  :  let  us  imagine  our  own 
daughters  between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and  twenty- 
four,  untaught  and  inexperienced  in  domestic  affairs 
as  they  commonly  are,  shipped  to  a  foreign  shore  to 


22O  House  and  Home  Papers. 

seek  service  in  families.  It  may  be  questioned  whether 
as  a  whole  they  would  do  much  better.  The  girls  that 
fill  our  families  and  do  our  house-work  are  often  of 
the  age  of  our  own  daughters,  standing  for  themselves, 
without  mothers  to  guide  them,  in  a  foreign  country, 
not  only  bravely  supporting  themselves,  but  sending 
home  in  every  ship  remittances  to  impoverished  friends 
left  behind.  If  our  daughters  did  as  much  for  us, 
should  we  not  be  proud  of  their  energy  and  hero- 
ism ? 

When  we  go  into  the  houses  of  our  country,  we  find 
a  majority  of  well-kept,  well-ordered,  and  even  elegant 
establishments  where  the  only  hands  employed  are 
those  of  the  daughters  of  Erin.  True,  American  wo- 
men have  been  their  instructors,  and  many  a  weary 
hour  of  care  have  they  had  in  the  discharge  of  this 
office  ;  but  the  result  on  the  whole  is  beautiful  and 
good,  and  the  end  of  it,  doubtless,  will  be  peace. 

In  speaking  of  the  office  of  the  American  mistress 
as  being  a  missionary  one,  we  are  far  from  recommend- 
ing any  controversial  interference  with  the  religious 
faith  of  our  servants.  It  is  far  better  to  incite  them 
to  be  good  Christians  in  their  own  way  than  to  run 
the  risk  of  shaking  their  faith  in  all  religion  by  point- 
ing out  to  them  the  errors  of  that  in  which  they  have 
been  educated.  The  general  purity  of  life  and  pro- 
priety of  demeanor  of  so  many  thousands  of  unde- 


Servants.  221 

fended  young  girls  cast  yearly  upon  our  shores,  with 
no  home  but  their  church,  and  no  shield  but  their 
religion,  are  a  sufficient  proof  that  this  religion  exerts 
an  influence  over  them  not  to  be  lightly  trifled  with. 
But  there  is  a  real  unity  even  in  opposite  Christian 
forms ;  and  the  Roman  Catholic  servant  and  the  Prot- 
estant mistress,  if  alike  possessed  by  the  spirit  of 
Christ,  and  striving  to  conform  to  the  Golden  Rule, 
cannot  help  being  one  in  heart,  though  one  go  to 
mass  and  the  other  to  meeting. 

Finally,  the  bitter  baptism  through  which  we  are 
passing,  the  life-blood  dearer  than  our  own  which  is 
drenching  distant  fields,  should  remind  us  of  the  pre- 
ciousness  of  distinctive  American  ideas.  They  who 
would  seek  in  their  foolish  pride  to  establish  the  pomp 
of  liveried  servants  in  America  are  doing  that  which 
is  simply  absurd.  A  servant  can  never  in  our  country 
be  the  mere  appendage  to  another  man,  to  be  marked 
like  a  sheep  with  the  color  of  his  owner  ;  he  must  be 
a  fellow-citizen,  with  an  established  position  of  his 
own,  free  to  make  contracts,  free  to  come  and  go,  and 
having  in  his  sphere  titles  to  consideration  and  re- 
spect just  as  definite  as  those  of  any  trade  or  pro- 
fession whatever. 

Moreover,  we  cannot  in  this  country  maintain  to 
any  great  extent  large  retinues  of  servants.  Even 
with  ample  fortunes  they  are  forbidden  by  the  gen- 


222  House  and  Home  Papers. 

eral  character  of  society  here,  which  makes  them  cum- 
brous and  difficult  to  manage.  Every  mistress  of  a 
family  knows  that  her  cares  increase  with  every  addi- 
tional servant.  Two  keep  the  peace  with  each  other 
and  their  employer ;  three  begin  a  possible  discord, 
which  possibility  increases  with  four,  and  becomes 
certain  with  five  or  six.  Trained  housekeepers,  such 
as  regulate  the  complicated  establishments  of  the  Old 
World,  form  a  class  that  are  not,  and  from  the  nature 
of  the  case  never  will  be,  found  in  any  great  numbers 
in  this  country.  All  such  women,  as  a  general  thing, 
are  keeping,  and  prefer  to  keep,  houses  of  their  own. 

A  moderate  style  of  housekeeping,  small,  compact, 
and  simple  domestic  establishments,  must  necessarily 
be  the  general  order  of  life  in  America.  So  many 
openings  of  profit  are  to  be  found  in  this  country,  that 
domestic  service  necessarily  wants  the  permanence 
which  forms  so  agreeable  a  feature  of  it  in  the  Old 
World. 

This  being  the  case,  it  should  be  an  object  in  Amer- 
ica to  exclude  from  the  labors  of  the  family  all  that 
can,  with  greater  advantage,  be  executed  out  of  it 
by  combined  labor. 

Formerly,  in  New  England,  soap  and  candles  were 
to  be  made  in  each  separate  family ;  now,  compara- 
tively few  take  this  toil  upon  them.  We  buy  soap  of 
the  soap-maker,  and  candles  of  the  candle-factor.  This 


Servants.  223 

principle  might  be  extended  much  further.  In  France 
no  family  makes  its  own  bread,  and  better  bread  can- 
not be  eaten  than  what  can  be  bought  at  the  appro- 
priate shops.  No  family  does  its  own  washing,  the 
family's  linen  is  all  sent  to  women  who,  making  this 
their  sole  profession,  get  it  up  with  a  care  and  nicety 
which  can  seldom  be  equalled  in  any  family. 

How  would  it  simplify  the  burdens  of  the  Ameri- 
can housekeeper  to  have  washing  and  ironing  day  ex- 
punged from  her  calendar !  How  much  more  neatly 
and  compactly  could  the  whole  domestic  system  be 
arranged !  If  all  the  money  that  each  separate  fam- 
ily spends  on  the  outfit  and  accommodations  for  wash- 
ing and  ironing,  on  fuel,  soap,  starch,  and  the  other  et 
ceteras,  were  united  in  a  fund  to  create  a  laundry  for 
every  dozen  families,  one  or  two  good  women  could 
do  in  first  rate  style  what  now  is  very  indifferently 
done  by  the  disturbance  and  disarrangement  of  all 
other  domestic  processes  in  these  families.  Whoever 
sets  neighborhood  laundries  on  foot  will  do  much  to 
solve  the  American  housekeeper's  hardest  problem. 

Finally,  American  -women  must  not  try  with  three 
servants  to  carry  on  life  in  the  style  which  in  the  Old 
World  requires  sixteen,  —  they  must  thoroughly  un- 
derstand, and  be  prepared  to  teacft,  every  branch  of 
housekeeping,  —  they  must  study  to  make  domestic 
service  desirable,  by  treating  their  servants  in  a  way 


224  House  and  Home  Papers. 

to  lead  them  to  respect  themselves  and  to  feel  them- 
selves respected, — and  there  will  gradually  be  evolved 
from  the  present  confusion  a  solution  of  the  domestic 
problem  which  shall  be  adapted  to  the  life  of  a  new 
and  growing  world. 


X. 

COOKERY. 

MY  wife  and  I  were  sitting  at  the  open  bow- 
window  of  my  study,  watching  the  tuft  of  bright 
red  leaves  on  our  favorite  maple,  which  warned  us  that 
summer  was  over.  I  was  solacing  myself,  like  aU  the 
world  in  our  days,  with  reading  the  "  Schonberg  Cotta 
Family,"  when  my  wife  made  her  voice  heard  through 
the  enchanted  distance,  and  dispersed  the  pretty  vision' 
of  German  cotfage-life. 

"  Chris  ! " 

"Well,  my  dear." 

"  Do  you  know  the  day  of  the  month  ? " 

Now  my  wife  knows  this  is  a  thing  that  I  never  do 
know,  that  I  can't  know,  and,  in  fact,  that  there  is  no 
need  I  should  trouble  myself  about,  since  she  always 
knows,  and  what  is  more,  always  tells  me.  In  fact, 
the  question,  when  asked  by  her,  meant  more  than 
met  the  ear.  It  was  a  delicate  way  of  admonishing 
me  that  another  paper  for  the  "  Atlantic  "  ought  to  be 
in  train ;  and  so  I  answered,  not  to  the  external  form, 
but  to  the  internal  intention. 
10* 


226  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  Well,  you  see,  my  dear,  I  have  n't  made  up  my 
mind  what  my  next  paper  shall  be  about." 
"Suppose,  then,  you  let  me  give  you  a  subject." 
"  Sovereign  lady,  speak  on  !  Your  slave  hears  ! " 
"  Well,  then,  take  Cookery.  It  may  seem  a  vulgar 
subject,  but  I  think  more  of  health  and  happiness  de- 
pends on  that  than  on  any  other  one  thing.  You  may 
make  houses  enchantingly  beautiful,  hang  them  with 
pictures,  have  them  clean  and  airy  and  convenient ; 
but  if  the  stomach  is  fed  with  sour  bread  and  burnt 
coffee,  it  will  raise  such  rebellions  that  the  eyes  will 
see  no  beauty  anywhere.  Now  in  the  little  tour  that 
you  and  I  have  been  taking  this  summer,  I  have  been 
thinking  of  the  great  abundance  of  splendid  material 
we  have  in  America,  compared  with  the  poor  cooking. 
How  often,  in  our  stoppings,  we  have  sat  down  to  ta- 
bles loaded  with  material,  originally  of  the  very  best 
kind,  which  had  been  so  spoiled  in  the  treatment  that 
there  was  really  nothing  to  eat !  Green  biscuits  with 
acrid  spots  of  alkali,  —  sour  yeast-bread,  —  meat  slow- 
ly simmered  in  fat  till  it  seemed  like  grease  itself,  and 
slowly  congealing  in  cold  grease,  —  and  above  all,  that 
unpardonable  enormity,  strong  butter  !  How  often  I 
have  longed  to  show  people  what  might  have  been 
done  with  the  raw  material  out  of  which  all  these  mon- 
strosities were  concocted  ! " 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  you  are  driving  me  upon  deli- 


Cookery.  227 

cate  ground.  Would  you  have  your  husband  appear 
in  public  with  that  most  opprobrious  badge  of  the  do- 
mestic furies,  a  dishcloth  pinned  to  his  coat-tail  ?  It  is 
coming  to  exactly  the  point  I  have  always  predicted, 
Mrs.  Crowfield :  you  must  write  yourself.  I  always 
told  you  that  you  could  write  far  better  than  I,  if  you 
would  only  try.  Only  sit  down  and  write  as  you 
sometimes  talk  to  me,  and  I  might  hang  up  my  pen 
by  the  side  of '  Uncle  Ned's '  fiddle  and  bow." 

"  O,  nonsense  !  "  said  my  wife.  ('  I  never  could 
write.  I  know  what  ought  to  be  said,  and  I  could 
say  it  to  any  one ;  but  my  ideas  freeze  in  the  pen, 
cramp  in  my  fingers,  and  make  my  brain  seem  like 
heavy  bread.  I  was  born  for  extemporary  speaking. 
Besides,  I  think  the  best  things  on  all  subjects  in  this 
world  of  ours  are  said,  not  by  the  practical  workers, 
but  by  the  careful  observers." 

"  Mrs.  Crowfield,  that  remark  is  as  good  as  if  I  had 
made  it  myself,"  said  I.  "  It  is  true  that  I  have  been 
all  my  life  a  speculator  and  observer  in  all  domestic 
matters,  having  them  so  confidentially  under  my  eye 
in  our  own  household ;  and  so,  if  I  write  on  a  pure 
woman's  matter,  it  must  be  understood  that  I  am  only 
your  pen  and  mouth-piece,  —  only  giving  tangible  form 
to  wisdom  which  I  have  derived  from  you." 

So  down  I  sat  and  scribbled,  while  my  sovereign 
lady  quietly  stitched  by  my  side.  And  here  I  tell  my 


228  House  and  Home  Papers. 

reader  that  I  write  on  such  a  subject  under  protest,  — 
declaring  again  my  conviction,  that,  if  my  wife  only 
believed  in  herself  as  firmly  as  I  do,  she  would  write 
so  that  nobody  would  ever  want  to  listen  to  me  again. 

COOKERY. 

WE  in  America  have  the  raw  material  of  provision 
in  greater  abundance  than  any  other  nation.  There 
is  no  country  where  an  ample,  well-furnished  table  is 
more  easily  spread,  and  for  that  reason,  perhaps,  none 
where  the  bounties  of  Providence  are  more  generally 
neglected.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  traveller 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  our  land  could  not, 
on  the  whole,  find  an  average  of  comfortable  subsist- 
ence ;  yet,  considering  that  our  resources  are  greater 
than  those  of  any  other  civilized  people,  our  results 
are  comparatively  poorer. 

It  is  said,  that,  a  list  of  the  summer  vegetables  which 
are  exhibited  on  New  York  hotel-tables  being  shown 
to  a  French  artiste,  he  declared  that  to  serve  such  a 
dinner  properly  would  take  till  midnight.  I  recollect 
how  I  was  once  struck  with  our  national  plenteous- 
ness,  on  returning  from  a  Continental  tour,  and  going 
directly  from  the  ship  to  a  New  York  hotel,  in  the 
bounteous  season  of  autumn.  For  months  I  had  been 
habituated  to  my  neat  little  bits  of  chop  or  poultry 
garnished  with  the  inevitable  cauliflower  or  potato, 


Cookery.  229 

which  seemed  to  be  the  sole  possibility  after  the  reign 
of  green-peas  was  over ;  now  I  sat  down  all  at  once  to 
a  carnival  of  vegetables  :  ripe,  juicy  tomatoes,  raw  or 
cooked ;  cucumbers  in  brittle  slices ;  rich,  yellow 
sweet -potatoes  ;  broad  Lima-beans,  and  beans  of 
other  and  various  names  ;  tempting  ears  of  Indian- 
corn  steaming  in  enormous  piles,  and  great  smoking 
tureens  of  the  savory  succotash,  an  Indian  gift  to  the 
table  for  which  civilization  need  not  blush ;  sliced  egg- 
plant in  delicate  fritters ;  and  marrow-squashes,  of 
creamy  pulp  and  sweetness  :  a  rich  variety,  embarrass- 
ing to  the  appetite,  and  perplexing  to  the  choice. 
Verily,  the  thought  has  often  impressed  itself  on  my 
mind  that  the  vegetarian  doctrine  preached  in  Amer- 
ica left  a  man  quite  as  much  as  he  had  capacity  to  eat 
or  enjoy,  and  that  in  the  midst  of  such  tantalizing 
abundance  he  really  lost  the  apology  which  elsewhere 
bears  him  out  in  preying  upon  his  less  gifted  and  ac- 
complished animal  neighbors. 

But  with  all  this,  the  American  table,  taken  as  a 
whole,  is  inferior  to  that  of  England  or  France.  It 
presents  a  fine  abundance  of  material,  carelessly  and 
poorly  treated.  The  management  of  food  is  nowhere 
in  the  world,  perhaps,  more  slovenly  and  wasteful. 
Everything  betokens  that  want  of  care  that  waits  on 
abundance  ;  there  are  great  capabilities  and  poor  ex- 
ecution. A  tourist  through  England  can  seldom  fail, 


230  House  and  Home  Papers. 

at  the  quietest  country^inn,  of  finding  himself  served 
with  the  essentials  of  English  table-comfort,  —  his 
mutton-chop  done  to  a  turn,  his  steaming  little  private 
apparatus  for  concocting  his  own  tea,  his  choice  pot 
of  marmalade  or  slice  of  cold  ham,  and  his  delicate 
rolls  and  creamy  butter,  all  served  with  care  and  neat- 
ness. In  France,  one  never  asks  in  vain  for  delicious 
cafe~au-lait)  good  bread  and  butter,  a  nice  omelet,  or 
some  savory  little  portion  of  meat  with  a  French  name. 
But  to  a  tourist  taking  like  chance  in  American  coun- 
try-fare, what  is  the  prospect  ?  What  is  the  coffee  ? 
what  the  tea  1  and  the  meat  ?  and  above  all,  the  butter  ? 

In  lecturing  on  cookery,  as  on  house-building,  I 
divide  the  subject  into  not  four,  but  five  grand  ele- 
ments :  first,  Bread ;  second,  Butter ;  third,  Meat ; 
fourth,  Vegetables  ;  and  fifth,  Tea,  —  by  which  I  mean, 
generically,  all  sorts  of  warm,  comfortable  drinks  served 
out  in  teacups,  whether  they  be  called  tea,  coffee, 
chocolate,  broma,  or  what  not. 

I  affirm,  that,  if  these  five  departments  are  all  per- 
fect, the  great  ends  of  domestic  cookery  are  answered, 
so  far  as  the  comfort  and  well-being  of  life  are  con- 
cerned. I  am  aware  that  there  exists  another  depart- 
ment, which  is  often  regarded  by  culinary  amateurs 
and  young  aspirants  as  the  higher  branch  and  very 
collegiate  course  of  practical  cookery ;  to  wit,  Confec- 
tionery, by  which  I  mean  to  designate  all  pleasing 


Cookery.  231 

and  complicated  compounds  of  sweets  and  spices, 
devised  not  for  health  and  nourishment,  and  strongly 
suspected  of  interfering  with  both, — mere  tolerated 
gratifications  of  the  palate,  which  we  eat,  not  with 
the  expectation  of  being  benefited,  but  only  with  the 
hope  of  not  being  injured  by  them.  In  this  large  de- 
partment rank  all  sort  of  cakes,  pies,  preserves,  ices, 
etc.  I  shall  have  a  word  or  two  to  say  under  this 
head  before  I  have  done.  I  only  remark  now,  that  in 
my  tours  about  the  country  I  have  often  had  a  virulent 
ill-will  excited  towards  these  works  of  culinary  super- 
erogation, because  I  thought  their  excellence  was  at- 
tained by  treading  under  foot  and  disregarding  the 
five  grand  essentials.  I  have  sat  at  many  a  table  gar- 
nished with  three  or  four  kinds  of  well-made  cake, 
compounded  with  citron  and  spices  and  all  imaginable 
good  things,  where  the  meat  was  tough  and  greasy, 
the  bread  some  hot  preparation  of  flour,  lard,  saleratus, 
and  acid,  and  the  butter  unutterably  detestable.  At 
such  tables  I  have  thought,  that,  if  the  mistress  of 
the  feast  had  given  the  care,  time,  and  labor  to  pre- 
paring the  simple  items  of  bread,  butter,  a'nd  meat,  that 
she  evidently  had  given  to  the  preparation  of  these 
extras,  the  lot  of  a  traveller  might  be  much  more  com- 
fortable. Evidently,  she  never  had  thought  of  these 
common  articles  as  constituting  a  good  table.  So 
long  as  she  had  puff  pastry,  rich  black  cake,  clear 


232  House  and  Home  Papers. 

jelly,  and  preserves,  she  seemed  to  consider  that  such 
unimportant  matters  as  bread,  butter,  and  meat  could 
take  care  of  themselves.  It  is -the  same  inattention 
to  common  things  as  that  which  leads  people  to  build 
houses  with  stone  fronts  and  window-caps  and  expen- 
sive front-door  trimmings,  without  bathing-rooms  or 
fireplaces  or  ventilators. 

Those  who  go  into  the  country  looking  for  summer 
board  in  farm-houses  know  perfectly  well  that  a  table 
where  the  butter  is  always  fresh,  the  tea  and  coffee  of 
the  best  kinds  and  well  made,  and  the  meats  properly 
kept,  dressed,  and  served,  is  the  one  table  of  a  hun- 
dred, the  fabulous  enchanted  island.  It  seems  impos- 
sible to  get  the  idea  into  the  minds  of  people  that 
what  is  called  common  food,  carefully  prepared,  be- 
comes, in  virtue  of  that  very  care  and  attention,  a  del- 
icacy, superseding  the  necessity  of  artificially  com- 
pounded dainties. 

To  begin,  then,  with  the  very  foundation  of  a  good 
table,  —  Bread :  What  ought  it  to  be  ?  It  should  be 
light,  sweet,  and  tender. 

This  matter  of  lightness  is  the  distinctive  line  be- 
tween savage  and  civilized  bread.  The  savage  mixes 
simple  flour  and  water  into  balls  of  paste,  which  he 
throws  into  boiling  water,  and  which  come  out  solid, 
glutinous  masses,  of  which  his  common  saying  is, 
"  Man  eat  dis,  he  no  die,"  —  which  a  facetious  trav- 


Cookery.  233 

• 

eller  who  was  obliged  to  subsist  on  it  interpreted  to 
mean,  "  Dis  no  kill  you,  nothing  will."  In  short,  it 
requires  the  stomach  of  a  wild  animal  or  of  a  savage 
to  digest  this  primitive  form  of  bread,  and  of  course 
more  or  less  attention  in  all  civilized  modes  of  bread- 
making  is  given  to  producing  lightness.  By  lightness 
is  meant  simply  that  the  particles  are  to  be  separated 
from  each  other  by  little  holes  or  air-cells ;  and  all  the 
different  methods  of  making  light  bread  are  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  formation  in  bread  of  these  air- 
cells. 

So  far  as  we  know,  there  are  four  practicable  meth- 
ods of  aerating  bread ;  namely,  by  fermentation,  — 
by  effervescence  of  an  acid  and  an  alkali, — by  aerated 
egg>  or  egg  which  has  been  filled  with  air  by  the  pro- 
cess of  beating,  —  and  lastly,  by  pressure  of  some 
gaseous  substance  into  the  paste,  by  a  process  much 
resembling  the  impregnation  of  water  in  a  soda-foun- 
tain. All  these  have  one  and  the  same  object,  —  to 
give  us  the  cooked  particles  of  our  flour  separated  by 
such  permanent  air-cells  as  will  enable  the  stomach 
more  readily  to  digest  them. 

A  very  common  mode  of  aerating  bread,  in  Amer- 
ica, is  by  the  effervescence  of  an  acid  and  an  alkali 
in  the  flour.  The  carbonic  acid  gas  thus  formed 
produces  minute  air-cells  in  the  bread,  or,  as  the  cook 
says,  makes  it  light,  When  this  process  is  performed 


234  Hotisc  and  Home  Papers. 

with  exact  attention  to  chemical  laws,  so  that  the  acid 
and  alkali  completely  neutralize  each  other,  leaving 
no  overplus  of  either,  the  result  is  often  very  pala- 
table. The  difficulty  is,  that  this  is  a  happy  con- 
junction of  circumstances  which  seldom  occurs.  The 
acid  most  commonly  employed  is  that  of  sour  milk, 
and,  as  milk  has  many  degrees  of  sourness,  the  rule 
of  a  certain  quantity  of  alkali  to  the  pint  must  neces- 
sarily produce  very  different  results  at  different  times. 
As  an  actual  fact,  where  this  mode  of  making  bread 
prevails,  as  we  lament  to  say  it  does  to  a  great  extent 
in  this  country,  one  finds  five  cases  of  failure  to  one 
of  success.  It  is  a  woful  thing  that  the  daughters 
of  New  England  have  abandoned  the  old  respectable 
mode  of  yeast-brewing  and  bread-raising  for  this  spe- 
cious substitute,  so  easily  made,  and  so  seldom  well 
made.  The  green,  clammy,  acrid  substance,  called 
biscuit,  which  many  of  our  worthy  republicans  are 
obliged  to  eat  in  these  days,  is  wholly  unworthy  of 
the  men  and  women  of  the  Republic.  Good  patriots 
ought  not  to  be  put  off  in  that  way,  —  they  deserve 
better  fare. 

As  an  occasional  variety,  as  a  household  conven- 
ience for  obtaining  bread  or  biscuit  at  a  moment's 
notice,  the  process  of  effervescence  may  be  retained  ; 
but  we  earnestly  entreat  American  housekeepers,  in 
Scriptural  language,  to  stand  in  the  way  and  ask 


Cookery.  235 

for  the  old  paths,  and  return  to  the  good  yeast-bread 
of  their  sainted  grandmothers. 

If  acid  and  alkali  must  be  used,  by  all  means  let 
them  be  mixed  in  due  proportions.  No  cook  should 
be  left  to  guess  and  judge  for  herself  about  this  mat- 
ter. There  is  an  article,  called  "  Preston's  Infallible 
Yeast-Polder,"  which  is  made  by  chemical  rule,  and. 
produces  very  perfect  results.  The  use  of  this  obvi- 
ates the  worst  dangers  in  making  bread  by  efferves- 
cence. 

Of  all  processes  of  aeration  in  bread-making,  the 
oldest  and  most  time-honored  is  by  fermentation. 
That  this  was  known  in  the  days  of  our  Saviour  is 
evident  from  the  forcible  simile  in  which  he  compares 
the  silent  permeating  force  of  truth  in  human  society 
to  the  very  familiar  household  process  of  raising  bread 
by  a  little  yeast. 

There  is,  however,  one  species  of  yeast,  much  used 
in  some  parts  of  the  country,  against  which  I  have  to 
enter  my  protest.  It  is  called  salt-risings,  or  milk- 
risings,  and  is  made  by  mixing  flour,  milk,  and  a 
little  salt  together,  and  leaving  them  to  ferment.  The 
bread  thus  produced  is  often  very  attractive,  when 
new  and  made  with  great  care.  It  is  white  and  deli- 
cate, with  fine,  even  air-cells.  It  has,  however,  when 
kept,  some  characteristics  which  remind  us  of  the 
terms  in  which  our  old  English  Bible  describes  the 


236  House  and  Home  Papers. 

effect  of  keeping  the  manna  of  the  ancient  Israelites, 
which  we  are  informed,  in  words  more  explicit  than 
agreeable,  "  stank,  and  bred  worms."  If  salt-rising 
bread  does  not  fulfil  the  whole  of  this  unpleasant 
description,  it  certainly  does  emphatically  a  part  of 
it.  The  smell  which  it  has  in  baking,  and  when  more 
than  a  day  old,  suggests .  the  inquiry,  whether  it  is  the 
saccharine  or  the  putrid  fermentation  with  which  it  is 
raised.  Whoever  breaks  a  piece  of  it  after  a  day  or 
two  will  often  see  minute  filaments  or  clammy  strings 
drawing  out  from  the  fragments,  which,  with  the  un- 
mistakable smell,  will  cause  him  to  pause  before 
consummating  a  nearer  acquaintance. 

The  fermentation  of  flour  by  means  of  brewer's  or 
distiller's  yeast  produces,  if  rightly  managed,  results 
far  more  palatable  and  wholesome.  The  only  requi- 
sites for  success  in  it  are,  first,  good  materials,  and, 
second,  great  care  in  a  few  small  things.  There  are 
certain  low-priced  or  damaged  kinds  of  flour  which 
can  never  by  any  kind  of  domestic  chemistry  be  made 
into  good  bread ;  and  to  those  persons  whose  stom- 
achs forbid  them  to  eat  gummy,  glutinous  paste,  under 
the  name  of  bread,  there  is  no  economy  in  buying 
these  poor  brands,  even  at  half  the  price  of  good  flour. 

But  good  flour  and  good  yeast  being  supposed,  with 
a  temperature  favorable  to  the  development  of  fermen- 
tation, the  whole  success  of  the  process  depends  on 


Cookery.  237 

the  thorough  diffusion  of  the  proper  proportion  of 
yeast  through  the  whole  mass,  and  on  stopping  the 
subsequent  fermentation  at  the  precise  and  fortunate 
point.  The  true  housewife  makes  her  bread  the  sov- 
ereign of  her  kitchen,  —  its  behests  must  be  attended 
to  in  all  critical  points  and  moments,  no  matter  what 
else  be  postponed.  She  who  attends  to  her  bread 
when  she  has  done  this,  and  arranged  that,  and  per- 
formed the  other,  very  often  finds  that  the  forces  of 
nature  will  not  wait  for  her.  The  snowy  mass,  per- 
fectly mixed,  kneaded  with  care  and  strength,  rises 
in  its  beautiful  perfection  till  the  moment  comes  for 
fixing  the  air-cells  by  baking.  A  few  minutes  now, 
and  the  acetous  fermentation  will  begin,  and  the  whole 
result  be  spoiled.  Many  bread-makers  pass  in  utter 
carelessness  over  this  sacred  and  mysterious  boun- 
dary. Their  oven  has  cake  in  it,  or  they  are  skim- 
ming jelly,  or  attending  to  some  other  of  the  so-called 
higher  branches  of  cookery,  while  the  bread  is  quickly 
passing  into  the  acetous  stage.  At  last,  when  they 
are  ready  to  attend  to  it,  they  find  that  it  has  been 
going  its  own  way,  —  it  is  so  sour  that  the  pungent 
smell  is  plainly  perceptible.  Now  the  saleratus-bottle 
is  handed  down,  and  a  quantity  of  the  dissolved  alkali 
mixed  with  the  paste,  —  an  expedient  sometimes  mak- 
ing itself  too  manifest  by  greenish  streaks  or  small 
acrid  spots  in  the  bread.  As  the  result,  we  have  a 


238  House  and  Home  Papers. 

beautiful  article  spoiled,  —  bread  without  sweetness, 
if  not  absolutely  sour. 

In  the  view  of  many,  lightness  is  the  only  property 
required  in  this  article.  The  delicate,  refined  sweet- 
ness which  exists  in  carefully  kneaded  bread,  baked 
just  before  it  passes  to  the  extreme  point  of  fermen- 
tation, is  something  of  which  they  have  no  conception  ; 
and  thus  they  will  even  regard  this  process  of  spoiling 
the  paste  by  the  acetous  fermentation,  and  then  rec- 
tifying that  acid  by  effervescence  with  an  alkali,  as 
something  positively  meritorious.  How  else  can  they 
value  and  relish  bakers'  loaves,  such  as  some  are, 
drugged  with  ammonia  and  other'  disagreeable  things, 
light  indeed,  so  light  that  they  seem  to  have  neither 
weight  nor  substance,  but  with  no  more  sweetness  or 
taste  than  so  much  white  cotton  ? 

Some  persons  prepare  bread  for  the  oven  by  sim- 
ply mixing  it  in  the  mass,  without  kneading,  pouring  it 
into  pans,  and  suffering  it  to  rise  there.  The  air-cells 
in  bread  thus  prepared  are  coarse  and  uneven  ;  the 
bread  is  as  inferior  in  delicacy  and  nicety  to  that 
which  is  well  kneaded  as  a  raw  Irish  servant  to  a 
perfectly  educated  and  refined  lady.  The  process  of 
kneading  seems  to  impart  an  evenness  to  the  minute 
air-cells,  a  fineness  of  texture,  and  a  tenderness  and 
pliability  to  the  whole  substance,  that  can  be  gained 
in  no  other  way. 


Cookery.  239 

The  divine  principle  of  beauty  has  its  reign  over 
bread  as  well  as  over  all  other  things ;  it  has  its  laws 
of  aesthetics ;  and  that  bread  which  is  so  prepared 
that  it  can  be  formed  into  separate  and  well-propor- 
tioned loaves,  each  one  carefully  worked  and  mould- 
ed, will  develop  the  most  beautiful  results.  After 
being  moulded,  the  loaves  should  stand  a  little  while, 
just  long  enough  to  allow  the  fermentation  going  on 
in  them  to  expand  each  little  air-cell  to  the  point  at 
which  it  stood  before  it  was  worked  down,  and  then 
they  should  be  immediately  put  into  the  oven. 

Many  a  good  thing,  however,  is  spoiled  in  the  oven. 
We  cannot  but  regret,  for  the  sake  of  bread,  that  our 
old  steady  brick  ovens  have  been  almost  universally 
superseded  by  those  of  ranges  and  cooking-stoves, 
which  are  infinite  in  their  caprices,  and  forbid  all 
general  rules.  One  thing,  however,  may  be  borne  in 
mind  as. a  principle,  —  that  the  excellence  of  bread  in 
all  its  varieties,  plain  or  sweetened,  depends  on  the 
perfection  of  its  air-cells,  whether  produced  by  yeast, 
egg,  or  effervescence  ;  that  one  of  the  objects  of  baking 
is  to  fix  these  air-cells,  and  that  the  quicker  this  can 
be  done  through  the  whole  mass,  the  better  will  the 
result  be..  When  cake  or  bread  is  made  heavy  by 
baking  too  quickly,  it  is  because  the  immediate  for- 
mation of  the  top  crust  hinders  the  exhaling  of  the 
moisture  in  the  centre,  and  prevents  the  air-cells  from 


240  House  and  Home  Papers. 

cooking.  The  weight  also  of  the  crust  pressing  down 
on  the  doughy  air-cells  below  destroys  them,  pro- 
ducing that  horror  of  good  cooks,  a  heavy  streak. 
The  problem  in  baking,  then,  is  the  quick  application 
of  heat  rather  below  than  above  the  loaf,  and  its 
steady  continuance  till  all  the  air-cells  are  thoroughly 
dried  into  permanent  consistency.  Every  housewife 
must  watch  her  own  oven  to  know  how  this  can  be 
best  accomplished. 

Bread-making  can  be  cultivated  to  any  extent  as  a 
fine  art,  —  and  the  various  kinds  of  biscuit,  tea-rusks, 
twists,  rolls,  into  which  bread  may  be  made,  are  much 
better  worth  a  housekeeper's  ambition  than  the  get- 
ting-up  of  rich  and  expensive  cake  or  confections. 
There  are  also  varieties  of  material  which  are  rich 
in  good  effects.  Unbolted  flour,  altogether  more 
wholesome  than  the  fine  wheat,  and  when  properly 
prepared  more  palatable, — 'rye-flour  and  corn-meal, 
each  affording  a  thousand  attractive  possibilities,; — 
each  and  all  of  these  come  under  the  general  laws 
of  bread-stuffs,  and  are  worth  a  cartful  attention. 

A  peculiarity  of  our  American  table,  particularly 
in  the  Southern  and  Western  States,  is  the  constant 
exhibition  of  various  preparations  of  hot  bread.  In 
many  families  of  the  South  and  West,  bread  in  loaves 
to  be  eaten  cold  is  an  article  quite  unknown.  The 
effect  of  this  kind  of  diet  upon  the  health  has  formed 


Cookery.  241 

a  frequent  subject  of  remark  among  travellers  j  but 
only  those  know  the  full  mischiefs  of  it  who  have 
been  compelled  to  sojourn  for  a  length  of  time  in 
families  where  it  is  maintained.  The  unknown  hor- 
rors of  dyspepsia  from  bad  bread  are  a  topic  over' 
which  we  willingly  draw  a  veil. 

Next  to  Bread  comes  Butter,  —  on  which  we  have 
to  say,  that,  when  we  remember  what  butter  is  in 
civilized  Europe,  and  compare  it  with  what  it  is  in 
America,  we  wonder  at  the  forbearance  and  lenity 
of  travellers  in  their  strictures  on  our  national  com- 
missariat. 

Butter,  in  England,  France,  and  Italy,  is  simply 
solidified  cream,  with  all  the  sweetness  of  the  cream 
in  its  taste,  freshly  churned  each  day,  and  unadul- 
terated by  salt.  At  the  present  moment,  when  salt 
is  five  cents  a  pound  and  butter  fifty,  we  Americans 
are  paying,  I  should  judge  from  the  taste,  for  about 
one  pound  of  salt  to  every  ten  of  butter,  and  those 
of  us  who  have  eaten  the  butter  of  France  and  Eng- 
land do  this  with  rueful  recollections. 

There  is,  it  is  true,  an  article  of  butter  made  in  the 
American  style  with  salt,  which,  in  its  own  kind  and 
way,  has  a  merit  not  inferior  to  that  of  England  and 
France.  Many  prefer  it,  and  it  certainly  takes  a  rank 
equally  respectable  with  the  other.  It  is  yellow,  hard, 


242  House  and  Home  Papers. 

and  worked  so  perfectly  free  from  every  particle  of 
buttermilk  that  it  might  make  the  voyage  of  the  world 
without  spoiling.  It  is  salted,  but  salted  with  care 
and  delicacy,  so  that  it  may  be  a  question  whether 
even  a  fastidious  Englishman  might  not  prefer  its 
golden  solidity  to  the  white,  creamy  freshness  of  his 
own.  Now  I  am  not  for  universal  imitation  of  foreign 
customs,  and  where  I  find  this  butter  made  perfectly, 
I  call  it  our  American  style,  and  am  not  ashamed 
of  it.  I  only  regret  that  this  article  is  the  excep- 
tion, and  not  the  rule,  on  our  tables.  When  I  re- 
flect on  the  possibilities  which  beset  the  delicate 
stomach  in  this  line,  I  do  not  wonder  that  my  ven- 
erated friend  Dr.  Mussey  used  to  close  his  counsels 
to  invalids  with  the  direction,  "And  don't  eat  grease 
on  your  bread." 

America  must,  I  think,  have  the  credit  of  manu- 
facturing and  putting  into  market  more  bad  butter 
than  all  that  is  made  in  all  the  rest  of  the  world  to- 
gether. The  varieties  of  bad  tastes  and  smells  which 
prevail  in  it  are  quite  a  study.  This  has  a  cheesy 
taste,  that  a  mouldy,  —  this  is  flavored  with  cabbage, 
and  that  again  with  turnip,  and  another  has  the  strong, 
sharp  savor  of  rancid  animal  fat.  These  varieties,  I 
presume,  come  from  the  practice  of  churning  only  at 
long  intervals,  and  keeping  the  cream  meanwhile  in 
un ventilated  cellars  or  dairies,  the  air  of  which  is 


Cookery.  243 

loaded  with  the  effluvia  of  vegetable  substances.  No 
domestic  articles  are  so  sympathetic  as  those  of  the 
milk  tribe  :  they  readily  take  on  the  smell  and  taste 
of  any  neighboring  substance,  and  hence  the  infinite 
%  variety  of  flavors  on  which  one  mournfully  muses  who 
has  late  in  autumn  to  taste  twenty  firkins  of  butter  in 
hopes  of  finding  one  which  will  simply  not  be  intol- 
erable on  his  winter  table. 

A  matter  for  despair  as  regards  bad  butter  is  that 
at  the  tables  where  it  is  used  it  stands  sentinel  at  the 
door  to  bar  your  way  to  every  other  kind  of  food. 
You  turn  from  your  dreadful  half-slice  of  bread,  which 
fills  your  mouth  with  bitterness,  to  your  beef-steak, 
which  proves  virulent  with  the  same  poison ;  you 
think  to  take  refuge  in  vegetable  diet,  and  find  the 
butter  in  the  string-beans,  and  polluting  the  innocence 
of  early  peas,  —  it  is  in"  the  corn,  in  the  succotash,  in 
the  squash,  —  the  beets  swim  in  it,  the  onions  have 
it  poured  over  them.  Hungry  and  miserable,  you 
think  to  solace  yourself  at  the  dessert,  —  but  the 
pastry  is  cursed,  the  cake  is  acrid  with  the  same 
plague.  You  are  ready  to  howl  with  despair,  and 
your  misery  is  great  upon  .you,  —  especially  if  this  is 
a  table  where  you  have  taken  board  for  three  months 
with  your  delicate  wife  and  four  small  children.  Your 
case  is  dreadful,  —  and  it  is  hopeless,  because  long 
usage  and  habit  have  rendered  your  host  perfectly 


244  House  and  Home  Papers. 

incapable  of  discovering  what  is  the  matter.  "  Don't 
like  the  butter,  Sir?  I  assure  you  I  paid  an  extra 
price  for  it,  and  it 's  the  very  best  in  the  market.  I 
looked  over  as  many  as  a  hundred  tubs,  and  picked 
out  this  one."  You  are  dumb,  but  not  less  despair- 
ing. 

Yet  the  process  of  making  good  butter  is  a  very 
simple  one.  To  keep  the  cream  in  a  perfectly  pure, 
cool  atmosphere,  to  churn  while  it  is  yet  sweet,  to 
work  out  the  buttermilk  thoroughly,  and  to  add  salt 
with  such  discretion  as  not  to  ruin  the  fine,  delicate 
flavor  of  the  fresh  cream,  —  all  this  is  quite  simple, 
so  simple  that  one  wonders  at  thousands  and  millions 
of  pounds  of  butter  yearly  manufactured  which  are 
merely  a  hobgoblin-bewitchment  of  cream  into  foul 
and  loathsome  poisons. 

The  third  head  of  my  discourse  is  that  of  Meat, 
of  which  America  furnishes,  in  the  gross  material, 
enough  to  spread  our  tables  royally,  were  it  well 
cared  for  and  served. 

The  faults  in  the  meat  generally  furnished  to  us 
are,  first,  that  it  is  too  new.  A  beefsteak,  which  three 
or  four  days  of  keeping  might  render  practicable,  is 
served  up  to  us  palpitating  with  freshness,  with  all  the 
toughness  of  animal  muscle  yet  warm.  In  the  West- 
ern country,  the  traveller,  on  approaching  an  hotel, 


Cookery.  245 

is  often  saluted  by  the  last  shrieks  of  the  chickens 
which  half  an  hour  afterward  are  presented  to  him 
a  la  spread-eagle  for  his  dinner.  The  example  of 
the  Father  of  the  Faithful,  most  wholesome  to  be 
followed  in  so  many  respects,  is  imitated  only  in  the 
celerity  with  which  the  young  calf,  tender  and  good, 
was  transformed  into  an  edible  dish  for  hospitable 
purposes.  But  what  might  be  good  housekeeping  in 
a  nomadic  Emir,  in  days  when  refrigerators  were  yet 
in  the  future,  ought  not  to  be  so  closely  imitated  as 
it  often  is  in  our  own  land. 

In  the  next  place,  there  is  a  woful  lack  of  nicety  in 
the  butcher's  work  of  cutting  and  preparing  meat. 
Who  that  remembers  the  neatly  trimmed  mutton-chop 
of  an  English  inn,  or  the  artistic  little  circle  of  lamb- 
chop  fried  in  bread-crumbs  coiled  around  a  tempting 
centre  of  spinach  which  can  always  be  found  in 
France,  can  recognize  any  family-resemblance  to  these 
dapper  civilized  preparations  in  those  coarse,  roughly 
hacked  strips  of  bone,  gristle,  and  meat  which  are 
commonly  called  mutton-chop  in  America  ?  There 
seems  to  be  a  large  dish  of  something  resembling 
meat,  in  which  each  fragment  has  about  two  or  three 
edible  morsels,  the  rest  being  composed  of  dry  and 
burnt  skin,  fat,  and  ragged  bone. 

Is  it  not  time  that  civilization  should  learn  to  de- 
mand somewhat  more  care  and  nicety  in  the  modes 


246  House  and  Home  Papers. 

of  preparing  what  is  to  be  cooked  and  eaten  ?  Might 
not  some  of  the  refinement  and  trimness  which  char- 
acterize the  preparations  of  the  European  market  be 
with  advantage  introduced  into  our  own  ?  The  house- 
keeper who  wishes  to  garnish  her  table  with  some 
of  those  nice  things  is  stopped  in  the  outset  by  the 
butcher.  Except  in  our  large  cities,  where  some  for- 
eign travel  may  have  created  the  demand,  it  seems 
impossible  to  get  much  in  this  line  that  is  properly 
prepared. 

I  am  aware,  that,  if  this  is  urged  on  the  score  of 
aesthetics,  the  ready  reply  will  be,  "  O,  we  can't  give 
time  here  in  America  to  go  into  niceties  and  French 
whim-whams  ! "  But  the  French  mode  of  doing  almost 
all  practical  things  is  based  on  that  true  philosophy 
and  utilitarian  good  sense  which  characterize  that 
seemingly  thoughtless  people.  Nowhere  is  economy 
a  more  careful  study,  and  their  market  is  artistically 
arranged  to  this  end.  The  rule  is  so  to  cut  their 
meats  that  no  portion  designed  to  be  cooked  in  a 
certain  manner  shall  have  wasteful  appendages  which 
that  mode  of  cooking  will  spoil.  The  French  soup- 
kettle  stands  ever  ready  to  receive  the  bones,  the 
thin  fibrous  flaps,  the  sinewy  and  gristly  portions, 
which  are  so  often  included  in  our  roasts  or  broil- 
ings,  which  fill  our  plates  with  unsightly  debris,  and 
finally  make  an  amount  of  blank  waste  for  which  we 


Cookery.  247 

pay  our  butcher  the  same  price  that  we  pay  for  what 
we  have  eaten. 

The  dead  waste  of  our  clumsy,  coarse  way  of  cut- 
ting meats  is  immense.  For  example,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  present  season,  the  part  of  a  lamb  denom- 
inated leg  and  loin,  or  hind-quarter,  sold  for  thirty 
cents  a  pound.  Now  this  includes,  besides  the  thick, 
fleshy  portions,  a  quantity  of  bone,  sinew,  and  thin 
fibrous  substance,  constituting  full  one  third  of  the 
whole  weight.  If  we  put  it  into  the  oven  entire,  in 
the  usual  manner,  we  have  the  thin  parts  overdone, 
and  the  skinny  and  fibrous  parts  utterly  dried  up,  by 
the  application  of  the  amount  of  heat  necessary  to 
cook  the  thick  portion.  Supposing  the  joint  to  weigh 
six  pounds,  at  thirty  cents,  and  that  one  third  of  the 
weight  is  so  treated  as  to  become  perfectly  useless, 
we  throw  away  sixty  cents.  Of  a  piece  of  beef  at 
twenty-five  cents  a  pound,  fifty  cents'  worth  is  often 
lost  in  bone,  fat,  and  burnt  skin. 

The  fact  is,  this  way  of  selling  and  cooking  meat 
in  large,  gross  portions  is  of  English  origin,  and  be- 
longs to  a  country  where  all  the  customs  of  society 
spring  from  a  class  who  have  no  particular  occasion 
for  economy.  The  practice  of  minute  and  delicate 
division  comes  from  a  nation  which  acknowledges 
the  need  of  economy,  and  has  made  it  a  study.  A 
quarter  of  lamb  in  this  mode  of  division  would  be 


248  House  and  Home  Papers. 

sold  in  three  nicely  prepared  portions.  The  thick 
part  would  be  sold  by  itself,  for  a  neat,  compact 
little  roast ;  the  rib-bones  would  be  artistically  sep- 
arated, and  all  the  edible  matters  scraped  away  would 
form  those  delicate  dishes  of  lamb-chop,  which,  fried 
in  bread-crumbs  to  a  golden  brown,  are  so  orna- 
mental and  so  palatable  a  side-dish  ;  the  trimmings 
which  remain  after  this  division  would  be  destined 
to  the  soup-kettle  or  stew-pan.  In  a  French  market 
is  a  little  portion  for  every  purse,  and  the  far-famed 
and  delicately  flavored  soups  and  stews  which  have 
arisen  out  of  French  economy  are  a  study  worth  a 
housekeeper's  attention.  Not  one  atom  of  food  is 
wasted  in  the  French  modes  of  preparation  ;  even 
tough  animal  cartilages  and  sinews,  instead  of  appear- 
ing burned  and  blackened  in  company  with  the  roast 
meat  to  which  they  happen  to  be  related,  are  treated 
according  to  their  own  laws,  and  come  out  either  in 
savory  soups,  or  those  fine,  clear  meat-jellies  which 
form  a  garnish  no  less  agreeable  to  the  eye  than  pal- 
atable to  the  taste. 

Whether  this  careful,  economical,  practical  style  of 
meat-cooking  can  ever  to  any  great  extent  be  intro- 
duced into  our  kitchens  now  is  a  question.  Our 
butchers  are  against  it ;  our  servants  are  wedded  to 
the  old  wholesale  wasteful  ways,  which  seem  to  them 
easier  because  they  are  accustomed  to  them.  A  cook 


Cookery.  249 

who  will  keep  and  properly  tend  a  soup-kettle  which 
shall  receive  and  utilize  all  that  the  coarse  preparations 
of  the  butcher  would  require  her  to  trim  away,  who 
understands  the  art  of  making  the  most  of  all  these 
remains,  is  a  treasure  scarcely  to  be  hoped  for.  If 
such  things  are  to  be  done,  it  must  be  primarily  through 
the  educated  brain  of  cultivated  women  who  do  not 
scorn  to  turn  their  culture  and  refinement  upon  do- 
mestic problems. 

When  meats  have  been  properly  divided,  so  that 
each  portion  can  receive  its  own  appropriate  style  of 
treatment,  next  comes  the  consideration  of  the  modes 
of  cooking.  These  may  be  divided  into  two  great 
general  classes  :  those  where  it  is  desired  to  keep  the 
juices  within  the  meat,  as  in  baking,  broiling,  and  fry- 
ing, —  and  those  whose  object  is  to  extract  the  juice 
and  dissolve  the  fibre,  as  in  the  making  of  soups  and 
stews.  In  the  first  class  of  operations,  the  process 
must  be  as  rapid  as  may  consist  with  the  thorough 
cooking  of  all  the  particles.  In  this  branch  of  cook- 
ery, doing  quickly  is  doing  well.  The  fire  must  be 
brisk,  the  attention  alert.  The  introduction  of  cook- 
ing-stoves oifers  to  careless  domestics  facilities  for 
gradually  drying-up  meats,  and  despoiling  them  of  all 
flavor  and  nutriment,  —  facilities  which  appear  to  be 
very  generally  laid  hold-  of.  They  have  almost  ban- 
ished the  genuine,  old-fashioned  roast-meat  from  our 


250  House  and  Home  Papers. 

tables,  and  left  in  its  stead  dried  meats  with  their 
most  precious  and  nutritive  juices  evaporated.  How 
few  cooks,  unassisted,  are  competent  to  the  simple 
process  of  broiling  a  beefsteak  or  mutton-chop  !  how 
very  generally  one  has  to  choose  between  these  meats 
gradually  dried  away,  or  burned  on  the  outside  and 
raw  within  !  Yet  in  England  these  articles  never  come 
on  table  done  amiss  ;  their  perfect  cooking  is  as  abso- 
lute a  certainty  as  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

No  one  of  these  rapid  processes  of  cooking,  however, 
is  so  generally  abused  as  frying.  The  frying-pan  has 
awful  sins  to  answer  for.  What  untold  horrors  of  dys- 
pepsia have  arisen  from  its  smoky  depths,'  like  the 
ghosts  from  witches'  caldrons  !  The  fizzle  of  frying 
meat  is  as  a  warning  knell  on  many  an  ear,  saying, 
"  Touch  not,  taste  not,  if  you  would  not  burn  and 
writhe  ! " 

Yet  those  who  have  travelled  abroad  remember 
that  some  of  the  lightest,  most  palatable,  and  most 
digestible  preparations  of  meat  have  come  from  this 
dangerous  source.  But  we  fancy  quite  other  rites  and 
ceremonies  inaugurated  the  process,  and  quite  other 
hands  performed  its  offices,  than  those  known  to  our 
kitchens.  Probably  the  delicate  cbtelettes  of  France 
are  not  flopped  down  into  half-melted  grease,  there 
gradually  to  warm  and  soak  and  fizzle,  while  Biddy 
goes  in  and  out  on  her  other  ministrations,  till  finally, 


Cookery.  25 1 

when  thoroughly  saturated,  and  dinner-hour  impends, 
she  bethinks  herself,  and  crowds  the  fire  below  to  a 
roaring  heat,  and  finishes  the  process  by  a  smart  burn, 
involving  the  kitchen  and  surrounding  precincts  in 
volumes  of  Stygian  gloom. 

From  such  preparations  has  arisen  the  very  cur- 
rent medical  opinion  that  fried  meats  are  indigest- 
ible. They  are  indigestible,  if  they  are  greasy  ; 
but  French  cooks  have  taught  us  that  a  thing  has 
no  more  need  to  be  greasy  because  emerging  from 
grease  than  Venus  had  to  be  salt  because  she  rose 
from  the  sea. 

There  are  two  ways  of  frying  employed  by  the  French 
cook.  One  is,  to  immerse  the  article  to  be  cooked  in 
boiling  fat,  with  an  emphasis  on  the  present  participle, 
—  and  the  philosophical  principle  is,  so  immediately 
to  crisp  every  pore,  at  the  first  moment  or  two  of  im- 
mersion, as  effectually  to  seal  the  interior  against 
the  intrusion  of  greasy  particles  ;  it  can  then  remain 
as  long  as  may  be  necessary  thoroughly  to  cook  it, 
without  imbibing  any  more  of  the  boiling  fluid  than  if 
it  were  inclosed  in  an  egg-shell.  The  other  method  is 
to  rub  a  perfectly  smooth  iron  surface  with  just  enough 
of  some  oily  substance  to  prevent  the  meat  from  ad- 
hering, and  cook  it  with  a  quick  heat,  as  cakes  are 
baked  on  a  griddle.  In  both  these  cases  there  must 
be  the  most  rapid  application  of  heat  that  can  be  made 


252  House  and  Home  Papers. 

without  burning,  and  by  the  adroitness  shown  in  work- 
ing out  this  problem  the  skill  of  the  cook  is  tested. 
Any  one  whose  cook  attains  this  important  secret  will 
find  fried  things  quite  as  digestible  and  often  more 
palatable  than  any  other. 

I  In  the  second  department  of  meat-cookery,  to  wit, 
the  slow  and  gradual  application  of  heat  for  the  soft- 
ening and  dissolution  of  its  fibre  and  the  extraction 
of  its  juices,  common  cooks  are  equally  untrained. 
Where  is  the  so-called  cook  who  understands  how  to 
prepare  soups  and  stews?  These  are  precisely  the 
articles  in  which  a  French  kitchen  excels.  The  soup- 
kettle,  made  with  a  double  bottom,  to  prevent  burn- 
ing, is  a  permanent,  ever-present  institution,  and  the 
coarsest  and  most  impracticable  meats  distilled  through 
that  alembic  come  out  again  in  soups,  jellies,  or  sa- 
vory stews.  The  toughest  cartilage,  even  the  bones, 
being  first  cracked,  are  here  made  to  give  forth  their 
hidden  virtues,  and  to  rise  in  delicate  and  appetizing 
forms.  One  great  law  governs  all  these  preparations  : 
the  application  of  heat  must  be  gradual,  steady,  long 
protracted,  never  reaching  the  point  of  active  boiling. 
Hours  of  quiet  simmering  dissolve  all  dissoluble  parts, 
soften  the  sternest  fibre,  and  unlock  every  minute  cell 
in  which  Nature  has  stored  away  her  treasures  of  nour- 
ishment. This  careful  and  protracted  application  of 
heat  and  the  skilful  use  of  flavors  constitute  the  two 


Cookery.  253 

main  points  in  all  those  nice  preparations  of  meat  for 
which  the  French  have  so  many  names,  —  processes 
by  which  a  delicacy  can  be  imparted  to  the  coarsest 
and  cheapest  food  superior  to  that  of  the  finest  articles 
under  less  philosophic  treatment. 

French  soups  and  stews  are  a  study,  —  and  they 
would  not  be  an  unprofitable  one  to  any  person  who 
wishes  to  live  with  comfort  and  even  elegance  on  small 
means. 

John  Bull  looks  down  from  the  sublime  of  ten  thou- 
sand a  year  on  French  kickshaws,  as  he  calls  them  : 
—  "  Give  me  my  meat  cooked  so  I  may  know  what  it 
is  ! "  An  ox  roasted  whole  is  dear  to  John's  soul,  and 
his  kitchen-arrangements  are  Titanic.  What  magnif- 
icent rounds  and  sirloins  of  beef,  revolving  on  self- 
regulating  spits,  with  a  rich  click  of  satisfaction,  be- 
fore grates  piled  with  roaring  fires  !  Let  us  do  jus- 
tice to  the  royal  cheer.  Nowhere  are  the  charms  of 
pure,  unadulterated  animal  food  set  forth  in  more 
imposing  style.  For  John  is  rich,  and  what  does  he 
care  for  odds  and  ends  and  parings  ?  Has  he  not  all 
the  beasts  of  the  forest,  and  the  cattle  on  a  thousand 
hills  ?  What  does  he  want  of  economy  ?  But  his 
brother  Jean  has  not  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year,  — 
nothing  like  it  >  but  he  makes  up  for  the  slenderness 
of  his  purse  by  boundless  fertility  of  invention  and  del- 
icacy of  practice.  John  began  sneering  at  Jean's 


254"  House  and  Home  Papers. 

soups  and  ragouts,  but  all  John's  modern  sons  and 
daughters  send  to  Jean  for  their  cooks,  and  the  sir- 
loins of  England  rise  up  and  do  obeisance  to  this 
Joseph  with  a  white  apron  who  comes  to  rule  in  their 
kitchens. 

There  is  no  animal  fibre  that  will  not  yield  itself 
up  to  long-continued,  steady  heat  But  the  difficulty 
with  almost  any  of  the  common  servants  who  call 
themselves  cooks  is,  that  they  have  not  the  smallest 
notion  of  the  philosophy  of  the  application  of  heat. 
Such  a  one  will  complacently  tell  you  concerning 
certain  meats,  that  the  harder  you  boil  them  the 
harder  they  grow,  —  an  obvious  fact,  which,  under 
her  mode  of  treatment,  by  an  indiscriminate  gallop- 
ing boil,  has  frequently  come  under  her  personal 
observation.  If  you  tell  her  that  such  meat  must 
stand  for  six  hours  in  a  heat  just  below  the  boiling- 
point,  she  will  probably  answer,  "  Yes,  Ma'am,"  and 
go  on  her  own  way.  Or  she  will  let  it  stand  till  it 
burns  to  the  bottom  of  the  kettle,  —  a  most  common 
termination  of  the  experiment.  The  only  way  to 
make  sure  of  the  matter  is  either  to  import  a  French 
kettle,  or  to  fit  into  an  ordinary  kettle  a  false  bottom, 
such  as  any  tinman  may  make,  that  shall  leave  a 
space  of  an  inch  or  two  between  the.  meat  and  the 
fire.  This  kettle  may  be  maintained  as  a  constant 
habitue  of  the  range,  and  into  it  the  cook  may  be 


Cookery.  255 

instructed  to  throw  all  the  fibrous  trimmings  of  meat, 
all  the  gristle,  tendons,  and  bones,  having  previously 
broken  up  these  last  with  a  mallet. 

Such  a  kettle  will  furnish  the  basis  for  clear,  rich 
soups  or  other  palatable  dishes.  Clear  soup  consists 
of  the  dissolved  juices  of  the  meat  and  gelatine  of 
the  bones,  cleared  from  the  fat  and  fibrous  portions 
by  straining  when  cold.  The  grease,  which  rises  to 
the  top  of  the  fluid,  may  thus  be  easily  removed.  In 
a  stew,  on  the  contrary,  you  boil  down  this  soup  till 
it  permeates  the  fibre  which  long  exposure  to  heat 
has  softened.  All  that  remains,  after  the  proper 
preparation  of  the  fibre  and  juices,  is  the  flavor- 
ing, and  it  is  in  this,  particularly,  that  French  soups 
excel  those  of  America  and  England  and  all  the 
world. 

English  and  American  soups  are  often  heavy  and 
hot  with  spices.  There  are  appreciable  tastes  in 
them.  They  burn  your  mouth  with  cayenne  or  clove 
or  allspice.  You  can  tell  at  once  what  is  in  them, 
oftentimes  to  your  sorrow.  But  a  French  soup  has 
a  flavor  which  one  recognizes  at  once  as  delicious, 
yet  not  to  be  characterized  as  due  to  any  single 
condiment ;  it  is  the  just  blending  of  many  things. 
The  same  remark  applies  to  all  their  stews,  ragouts, 
and  other  delicate  preparations.  No  cook  will  ever 
study  these  flavors  ;  but  perhaps  many  cooks'  mis- 


256  House  and  Home  Papers. 

tresses  may,  and  thus  be  able  to  impart  delicacy 
and  comfort  to  economy. 

As  to  those  things  called  hashes,  commonly  man- 
ufactured by  unwatched,  untaught  cooks,  out  of  the 
remains  of  yesterday's  repast,  let  us  not  dwell  too 
closely  on  their  memory,  —  compounds  of  meat,  gris- 
tle, skin,  fat,  and  burnt  fibre,  with  a  handful  of 
pepper  and  salt  flung  at  them,  dredged  with  lumpy 
flour,  watered  from  the  spout  of  the  tea-kettle,  and 
left  to  simmer  at  the  cook's  convenience  while  she 
is  otherwise  occupied.  Such  are  the  best  perform- 
ances a  housekeeper  can  hope  for  from  an  untrained 
cook. 

But  the  cunningly  devised  minces,  the  artful  prep- 
arations choicely  flavored,  which  may  be  made  of 
yesterday's  repast,  —  by  these  is  the  true  domestic 
artist  known.  No  cook  untaught  by  an  educated 
brain  ever  makes  these,  and  yet  economy  is  a  great 
gainer  by  them. 

As  regards  the  department  of  Vegetables,  their  num- 
ber and  variety  in  America  are  •  so  great  that  a  table 
might  almost  be  furnished  by  these  alone.  Generally 
speaking,  their  cooking  is  a  more  simple  art,  and 
therefore  more  likely  to  be  found  satisfactorily  per- 
formed, than  that  of  meats.  If  only  they  are  not 
drenched  with  rancid  butter,  their  own  native  excel- 


Cookery.  257 

lence  makes  itself  known  in  most  of  the  ordinary 
modes  of  preparation. 

There  is,  however,  one  exception. 

Our  stanch  old  friend,  the  potato,  is  to  other  vege- 
tables what  bread  is  on  the  table.  Like  bread,  it  is 
held  as  a  sort  of  sine-qua-non ;  like  that,  it  may  be 
4fiade  invariably  palatable  by  a  little  care  in  a  few 
plain  particulars,  through  neglect  of  which  it  often 
becomes  intolerable.  The  soggy,  waxy,  indigestible 
viand  that  often  appears  in  the  potato-dish  is  a  down- 
right sacrifice  of  the  better  nature  of  this  vegetable. 

The  potato,  nutritive  and  harmless  as  it  appears, 
belongs  to  a  family  suspected  of  very  dangerous  traits. 
It  is  a  family-connection  of  the  deadly-nightshade  and 
other  ill-reputed  gentry,  and  sometimes  shows  strange 
proclivities  to  evil,  —  now  breaking  out  uproariously, 
as  in  the  noted  potato-rot,  and  now  jmore  covertly, 
in  various  evil  affections.  For  this  reason  scientific 
directors  bid  us  beware  of  the  water  in  which  pota- 
toes are  boiled,  —  into  which,  it  appears,  the  evil 
principle  is  drawn  off;  and  they  caution  us  not  to 
shred  them  into  stews  without  previously  suffering 
the  slices  to  lie  for  an  hour  or  so  in  salt  and  water. 
These  cautions  are  worth  attention. 

The  most  usual  modes  of  preparing  the  potato  for 
the  table  are  by  roasting  or  boiling.  These  processes 
are  so  simple  that  it  is  commonly  supposed  every 


258  House  and  Home  Papers. 

cook  understands  them  without  special  directions ; 
and  yet  there  is  scarcely  an  uninstructed  cook  who 
can  boil  or  roast  a  potato. 

A  good  roasted  potato  is  a  delicacy  worth  a  dozen 
compositions  of  the  cook-book ;  yet  when  we  ask  for 
it,  what  burnt,  shrivelled  abortions  are  presented  to 
us!  Biddy  rushes  to  her  potato-basket  and  pours 
out  two  dozen  of  different  sizes,  some  having  in  them 
three  times  the  amount  of  matter  of  others.  These 
being  washed,  she  tumbles  them  into  her  oven  at  a 
leisure  interval,  and  there  lets  them  lie  till  it  is  time 
to  serve  breakfast,  whenever  that  may  be.  As  a 
result,  if  the  largest  are  cooked,  the  smallest  are 
presented  in  cinders,  and  the  intermediate  sizes  are 
withered  and  watery.  Nothing  is  so  utterly  ruined 
by  a  few  mpments  of  overdoing.  That  which  at  the 
right  moment. was  plump  with  mealy  richness,  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  later  shrivels  and  becomes  watery,  — 
and  it  is  in  this  state  that  roast  potatoes  are  most 
frequently  served. 

In  the  same  manner  we  have  seen  boiled  potatoes 
from  an  untaught  cook  coming  upon  the  table  like 
lumps  of  yellow  wax,  —  and  the  same  article,  the  day 
after,  under  the  directions  of  a  skilful  mistress,  ap- 
pearing in  snowy  balls  of  powdery  lightness.  In  the 
one  case,  they  were  thrown  in  their  skins  into  water, 
and  suffered  to  soak  or  boil,  as  the  case  might  be,  at 


Cookery.  259 

the  cook's  leisure,  and  after  they  were  boiled  to  stand 
in  the  water  till  she  was  ready  to  peel  them.  In  the 
other  case,  the  potatoes  being  first  peeled  were  boiled 
as  quickly  as  possible  in  salted  water,  which  the  mo- 
ment they  were  done  was  drained  off,  and  then  they 
were  gently  shaken  for  a  minute  or  two  over  the  fire 
to  dry  them  still  more  thoroughly.  We  have  never 
yet  seen  the  potato  so  depraved  and  given  over  to 
evil  that  could  not  be  reclaimed  by  this  mode  of 
treatment. 

As  to  fried  potatoes,  who  that  remembers  the  crisp, 
golden  slices  of  the  French  restaurant,  thin  as  wafers 
and  light  as  snow-flakes,  does  not  speak  respectfully 
of  them  ?  What  cousinship  with  these  have  those 
coarse,  greasy  masses  of  sliced  potato,  wholly  soggy 
and  partly  burnt,  to  which  we  are  treated  under  the 
name  of  fried  potatoes  d  la  America?  In  our  cities 
the  restaurants  are  introducing  the  French  article  to 
great  acceptance,  and  to  the  vindication  of  the  fair 
fame  of  this  queen  of  vegetables. 

Finally,  I  arrive  at  the  last  great  head  of  my 
subject,  to  wit,  TEA,  —  meaning  thereby,  as  before 
observed,  what  our  Hibernian  friend  did  in  the  in- 
quiry, "  Will  y'.r  Honor  take  '  tay  tay '  or  coffee 
Jay?" 

I  am  not  about  to  enter  into  the  merits   of  the 


260  House  and  Home  Papers. 

great  tea-and-coffee  controversy,  or  say  whether  these 
substances  are  or  are  not  wholesome.  I  treat  of 
them  as  actual  existences,  and  speak  only  of  the 
modes  of  making  the  most  of  them. 

The  French  coffee  is  reputed  the  best  in  the  world ; 
and  a  thousand  voices  have  asked,  What  is  it  about 
the  French  coffee  ? 

In  the  first  place,  then,  the  French  coffee  is  coffee, 
and  not  chiccory,  or  rye,  or  beans,  or  peas.  In  the 
second  place,  it  is  freshly  roasted,  whenever  made,  — 
roasted  with  great  care  and  evenness  in  a  little  revolv- 
ing cylinder  which  makes  part  of  the  furniture  of  every 
kitchen,  and  which  keeps  in  the  aroma  of  the  berry. 
It  is  never  overdone,  so  as  to  destroy  the  coffee-flavor, 
which  is  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  fault  of  the  coffee 
we  meet  with.  Then  it  is  ground,  and  placed  in  a 
coffee-pot  with  a  filter,  through  which  it  percolates  in 
clear  drops,  the  Coffee-pot  standing  on  a  heated  stove  to 
maintain  J;he  temperature.  The  nose  of  the  coffee-pot 
is  stopped  up  to  prevent  the  escape  of  the  aroma  during 
this  process.  The  extract  thus  obtained  is  a  perfectly 
clear,  dark  fluid,  known  as  cafe  ?ioir,  or  black  coffee. 
It  is  black  only  because  of  its  strength,  being  in  fact 
almost  the  very  essential  oil  of  coffee.  A  table-spoon- 
ful of  this  in  boiled  milk  would  make  what  is  ordi- 
narily called  a  strong  cup  of  coffee.  The  boiled  milk; 
is  prepared  with  no  less  care.  It  must  be  fresh  and 


Cookery.  261 

new,  not  merely  warmed  or  even  brought  to  the  boil- 
ing-point, but  slowly  simmered  till  it  attains  a  thick, 
creamy  richness.  The  coffee  mixed  with  this,  and 
sweetened  with  that  sparkling  beet-root  sugar  which 
ornaments  a  French  table,  is  the  celebrated  cafe-au- 
lait,  the  name  of  which  has  gone  round  the  world. 

As  we  look  to  France  for  the  best  coffee,  so  we 
must  look  to  England  for  the  perfection  of  tea.  The 
tea-kettle  is  as  much  an  English  institution  as  aris- 
tocracy or  the  Prayer-Book;  and  when  one  wants  to 
know  exactly  how  tea  should  be  made,  one  has  only 
to  ask  how  a  fine  old  English  housekeeper  makes  it. 

The  first  article  of  her  faith  is  that  the  water  must 
not  merely  be  hot,  not  merely  have  boiled  a  few  mo- 
ments since,  but  be  actually  boiling  at  the  moment  it 
touches  the  tea.  Hence,  though  servants  in  Eng- 
land are  vastly  better  trained  than  with  us,  this  deli- 
cate mystery  is  seldom  left  to  their  hands.  Tea-mak- 
ing belongs  to  the  drawing-room,  and  high-born  ladies 
preside  at  "  the  bubbling  and  loud-hissing  urn,"  and 
see  that  all  due  rites  and  solemnities  are  properly 
performed,  —  that  the  cups  are  hot,  and  that  the  in- 
fused tea  waits  the  exact  time  before  the  libations 
commence.  O,  ye  dear  old  English  tea-tables,  resorts 
of  the  kindest-hearted  hospitality  in  the  world  !  we 
still  cherish  your  memory,  even  though  you  do  not 
say  pleasant  things  of  us  there.  One  of  these  days 


262  House  and  Home  Papers. 

you  will  think  better  of  us.  Of  late,  the  introduction  ' 
of  English  breakfast-tea  has  raised  a  new  sect  among 
the  tea-drinkers,  reversing  some  of  the  old  canons. 
Breakfast-tea  must  be  boiled !  Unlike  the  delicate 
article  of  olden  time,  which  required  only  a  momen- 
tary infusion  to  develop  its  richness,  this  requires  a 
longer  and  severer  treatment  to  bring  out  its  strength, 
—  thus  confusing  all  the  established  usages,  and 
throwing  the  work  into  the  hands  of  the  cook  in  the 
kitchen. 

The  faults  of  tea,  as  too  commonly  found  at  our 
hotels  and-  boarding-houses,  are  that  it  is  made  in 
every  way  the  reverse  of  what  it  should  be.  The 
water  is  hot,  perhaps,  but  not  boiling;  the  tea  has 
a  general  flat,  stale,  smoky  taste,  devoid  of  life  or 
spirit ;  and  it  is  served,  usually,  with  thin  milk,  instead 
of  cream.  Cream  is  as  essential  to  the  richness  of 
tea  as  of  coffee.  We  could  wish  that  the  English 
fashion  might  generally  prevail,  of  giving  the  traveller 
his  own  kettle  of  boiling  water  and  his  own  tea-chest, 
and  letting  him  make  tea  for  himself.  At  all  events, 
he  would  then  be  sure  of  one  merit  in  his  tea,  —  it 
would  be  hot,  a  very  simple  and  obvious  virtue,  but 
one  very  seldom  obtained. 

Chocolate  is  a  French  and  Spanish  article,  and  one 
seldom  served  on  American  tables.  We,  in  America, 
however,  make  an  article  every  way  equal  to  any 


Cookery.  263 

which  can  be  imported  from  Paris,  and  he  who  buys 
Baker's  best  vanilla-chocolate  may  rest  assured  that 
no  foreign  land  can  furnish  anything  better.  A  very 
rich  and  delicious  beverage  may  be  made  by  dissolv- 
ing this  in  milk  slowly  boiled  down  after  the  French 
fashion. 

I  have  now  gone  over  all  the  ground  I  laid  out, 
as  comprising  the  great  first  principles  of  cookery; 
and  I  would  here  modestly  offer  the  opinion  that  a 
table  where  all  these  principles  are  carefully  observed 
would  need  few  dainties.  The  struggle  after  so-called 
delicacies  comes  from  the  poorness  of  common  things. 
Perfect  bread  and  butter  would  soon  drive  cake  out 
of  the  field  ;  it  has  done  so  in  many  families.  Never- 
theless, I  have  a  word  to  say  under  the  head  of  Con- 
fectionery^ meaning  by  this  the  whole  range  of  orna- 
mental cookery,  —  or  pastry,  ices,  jellies,  preserves, 
etc.  The  art  of  making  all  these  very  perfectly  is  far 
better  understood  in  America  than  the  art  of  common 
cooking. 

There  are  more  women  who  know  how  to  make 
good  cake  than  good  bread,  —  more  who  can  furnish 
you  with  a  good  ice-cream  than  a  well-cooked  mutton- 
chop  ;  a  fair  charlotte-russe  is  easier  to  come  by  than 
a  perfect  cup  of  coffee,  and  you  shall  find  a  sparkling 
jelly  to  your  dessert  where  you  sighed  in  vain  for  so 
simple  a  luxury  as  a  well-cooked  potato. 


264  House  and  Home  Papers. 

Our  fair  countrywomen  might  rest  upon  their  laurels 
in  these  higher  fields,  and  turn  their  great  energy  and 
ingenuity  to  the  study  of  essentials.  To  do  common 
things  perfectly  is  far  better  worth  our  endeavor  than 
to  do  uncommon  things  respectably.  We  Americans 
in  many  things  as  yet  have  been  a  little  inclined  to 
begin  making  our  shirt  at  the  ruffle ;  but,  neverthe- 
less, when  we  set  about  it,  we  can  make  the  shirt 
as  nicely  as  anybody,  —  it  needs  only  that  we  turn 
our  attention  to  it,  resolved,  that,  ruffle  or  no  ruffle, 
the  shirt  we  will  have. 

I  have  also  a  few  words  to  say  as  to  the  prevalent 
ideas  in  respect  to  French  cookery.  Having  heard 
much  of  it,  with  no  very  distinct  idea  what  it  is,  our 
people  have  somehow  fallen  into  the  notion  that  its 
forte  lies  in  high  spicing,  —  and  so,  when  our  cooks 
put  a  great  abundance  of  clove,  mace,  nutmeg,  and 
cinnamon  into  their  preparations,  they  fancy  that  they 
are  growing  up  to  be  French  cooks.  But  the  fact  is, 
that  the  Americans  and  English  are  far  more  given 
to  spicing  than  the  French.  Spices  in  our  made 
dishes  are  abundant,  and  their  taste  is  strongly  pro- 
nounced. In  living  a  year  in  France  I  forgot  the 
taste  of  nutmeg,  clove,  and  allspice,  which  had  met 
me  in  so  many  dishes  in  America. 

The  thing  may  be  briefly  denned.  The  English 
and  Americans  deal  in  spices,  the  French  in  flavors,  — 


Cookery.  265 

flavors  many  and  subtile,  imitating  often  in  their  deli- 
cacy those  subtile  blendings  which  Nature  produces 
in  high-flavored  fruits.  The  recipes  of  our  cookery- 
books  are  most  of  them  of  English  origin,  coming 
down  from  the  times  of  our  phlegmatic  ancestors, 
when  the  solid,  burly,  beefy  growth  of  the  foggy  isl- 
and required  the  heat  of  fiery  condiments,  and  could 
digest  heavy  sweets.  Witness  the  national  recipe  for 
plum-pudding,  which  may  be  rendered,  —  Take  a 
pound  of  every  indigestible  substance  you  can  think 
of,  boil  into  a  cannon-ball,  and  serve  in  flaming 
brandy.  So  of  the  Christmas  mince-pie  and  many 
other  national  dishes.  But  in  America,  owing  to  our 
brighter  skies  and  more  fervid  climate,  we  have  de- 
veloped an  acute,  nervous  delicacy  of  temperament 
far  more  akin  to  that  of  France  than  of  England. 

Half  of  the  recipes  in  our  cook-books  are  mere 
murder  to  such  constitutions  and  stomachs  as  we 
grow  here.  We  require  to  ponder  these  things,  and 
think  how  we  in  our  climate  and  under  our  circum- 
stances ought  to  live,  and  in  doing  so,  we  may, 
without  accusation  of  foreign  foppery,  take  some 
leaves  from  many  foreign  books. 

But  Christopher  has  prosed  long  enough.  I  must 
now  read  this  to  my  wife,  and  see  what  she  says. 

12 


XL 

OUR    HOUSE. 

OUR  gallant  Bob  Stephens,  into  whose  life-boat 
our  Marianne  has  been  received,  has  lately 
taken  the  mania  of  housebuilding  into  his  head.  Bob 
is  somewhat  fastidious,  difficult  to  please,  fond  of 
domesticities  and  individualities;  and  such  a  man 
never  can  fit  himself  into  a  house  built  by  another, 
and  accordingly  house-building  has  always  been  his 
favorite  mental  recreation.  During  all  his  courtship 
as  much  time  was  taken  up  in  planning  a  future  house 
as  if  he  had  money  to  build  one ;  and  all  Marianne's 
patterns,  and  the  backs  of  half  their  letters,  were 
scrawled  with  ground-plans  and  elevations.  But  lat- 
terly this  chronic  disposition  has  been  quickened  into 
an  acute  form  by  the  falling-in  of  some  few  thousands 
to  their  domestic  treasury,  —  left  as  the  sole  re- 
siduum of  a  painstaking  old  aunt,  who  took  it  into 
her  head  to  make  a  will  in  Bob's  favor,  leaving,  among 
other  good  things,  a  nice  little  bit  of  land  in  a  rural 
district  half  an  hour's  railroad-ride  from  Boston. 

So  now  ground-plans  thicken,  and  my  wife  is  being 


Our  House.  267 

consulted  morning,  noon,  and  night ;  and  I  never 
come  into  the  room  without  finding  their  heads  close 
together  over  a  paper,  and  hearing  Bob  expatiate  on 
his  favorite  idea  of  a  library.  He  appears  to  have 
got  so  far  as  this,  that  the  ceiling  is  to  be  of  carved 
oak,  with  ribs  running  to  a  boss  over  head,  and 
finished  mediaevally  with  ultramarine  blue  and  gilding, 
—  and  then  away  he  goes  sketching  Gothic  patterns 
of  book-shelves  which  require  only  experienced  carv- 
ers, and  the  wherewithal  to  pay  them,  to  be  the 
divinest  things  in  the  world. 

Marianne  is  exercised  about  china-closets  and  pan- 
tries, and  about  a  bedroom  on  the  ground-floor,  — 
for,  like  all  other  women  of  our  days,  she  expects  not 
to  have  strength  enough  to  run  up-stairs  oftener  than 
once  or  twice  a  week  ;  and  my  wife,  who  is  a  native 
genius  in  this  line,  and  has  planned  in  her  time  doz- 
ens of  houses  for  acquaintances,  wherein  they  are  at 
this  moment  living  happily,  goes  over  every  day  with 
her  pencil  and  ruler  the  work  of  rearranging  the  plans, 
according  as  the  ideas  of  the  young  couple  veer  and 
vary. 

One  day  Bob  is  importuned  to  give  two  feet  off 
from  his  library  for  a  closet  in  the  bedroom,  —  but 
resists  like  a  Trojan.  The  next  morning,  being  mol- 
lified by  private  domestic  supplications,  Bob  yields, 
and  my  wife  rubs  out  the  lines  of  yesterday,  two  feet 


268  House  and  Home  Papers. 

come  off  the  library,  and  a  closet  is  constructed.*  But 
now  the  parlor  proves  too  narrow,  —  the  parlor-wall 
must  be  moved  two  feet  into  the  hall.  Bob  declares 
this  will  spoil  the  symmetry  of  the  latter ;  and  if  there 
is  anything  he  wants,  it  is  a  wide,  generous,  ample  hall 
to  step  into  when  you  open  the  front-door. 

"  Well,  then,"  says  Marianne,  "  let 's  put  two  feet 
more  into  the  width  of  the  house." 

"Can't  on  account  of  the  expense,  you  see,"  says 
Bob.  "  You  see  every  additional  foot  of  outside  wall 
necessitates  so  many  more  bricks,  so  much  more  floor- 
ing, so  much  more  roofing,  etc." 

And  my  wife,  with  thoughtful  brow,  looks  over  the 
plans,  and  considers  how  two  feet  more  are  to  be  got 
into  the  parlor  without  moving  any  of  the  walls. 

"I  say,"  says  Bob,  bending  over  her  shoulder, 
"  here,  take  your  two  feet  in  the  parlor,  and  put  two 
more  feet  on  to  the  other  side  of  the  hall-stairs " ; 
and  he  dashes  heavily  with  his  pencil. 

"  O,  Bob  ! "  exclaims  Marianne,  "  there  are  the 
kitchen-pantries !  you  ruin  them,  —  and  no  place  for 
the  cellar-stairs ! " 

"  Hang  the  pantries  and  cellar-stairs  ! "  says  Bob. 
"  Mother  must  find  a  place  for  them  somewhere  else. 
I  say  the  house  must  be  roomy  and  cheerful,  and  pan- 
tries and  those  things  may  take  care  of  themselves  ; 
they  can  be  put  somewhere  well  enough.  No  fear 


Ottr  House.  269 

but  you  will  find  a  place  for  them  somewhere.  What 
do  you  women  always  want  such  a  great  enormous 
kitchen  for  ? " 

"  It  is  not  any  larger  than  is  necessary,"  said  my 
wife,  thoughtfully ;  "  nothing  is  gained  by  taking  off 
from  it." 

"  What  if  you  should  put  it  all  down  into  a  base- 
ment," suggests  Bob,  "  and  so  get  it  all  out  of  sight 
together  ? " 

"  Never  if  it  can  be  helped,"  said  my  wife.  "  Base- 
ment-kitchens are  necessary  evils,  only  to  be  tolerated 
in  cities  where  land  is  too  dear  to  afford  any  other." 

So  goes  the  discussion  till  the  trio  agree  to  sleep 
over  it.  The  next  morning  an  inspiration  visits  my 
wife's  pillow.  She  is  up  and  seizes  plans  and  paper, 
and  before  six  o'clock  has  enlarged  the  parlor  very 
cleverly,  by  throwing  out  a  bow-window.  So  waxes 
and  wanes  the  prospective  house,  innocently  battered 
down  and  rebuilt  with  India-rubber  and  black-lead. 
Doors  are  cut  out  to-night,  and  walled  up  to-morrow ; 
windows  knocked  out  here  and  put  in  there,  as  some  ob- 
server suggests  possibilities  of  too  much  or  too  little 
draught.  Now  all  seems  finished,  when,  lo,  a  discovery ! 
There  is  no  fireplace  nor  stove-flue  in  my  lady's  bed- 
room, and  can  be  none  without  moving  the  bathing- 
room.  Pencil  and  India-rubber  are  busy  again,  and  for 
a  while  the  whole  house  seems  to  threaten  to  fall  to 


270  House  and  Home  Papers. 

pieces  with  the  confusion  of  the  moving;  the  bath-room 
wanders  like  a  ghost,  now  invading  a  closet,  now  threat- 
ening the  tranquillity  of  the  parlor,  till  at  last  it  is 
laid  by  some  unheard-of  calculations  of  my  wife's, 
and  sinks  to  rest  in  a  place  so  much  better  that  every 
body  wonders  it  never  was  thought  of  before. 

"Papa,"  said  Jenny,  "it  appears  to  me  people 
don't  exactly  know  what  they  want  when  they  build ; 
why  don't  you  write  a  paper  on  house-building  ? " 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,"  said  I,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
called  to  settle  some  great  reform.  "  It  must  be  en- 
tirely because  Christopher  has  not  written  that  our 
young  people  and  mamma  are  tangling  themselves 
daily  in  webs  which  are  untangled  the  next  day." 

"You  see,"  said  Jenny,  "they  have  only  just  so 
much  money,  and  they  want  everything  they  can  think 
of  under  the  sun.  There  's  Bob  been  studying  archi- 
tectural antiquities,  and  nobody  knows  what,  and 
sketching  all  sorts  of  curly- whorlies  ;  and  Marianne  has 
her  notions  about  a  parlor  and  boudoir  and  china- 
closets  and  bedroom-closets  ;  and  Bob  wants  a  baro- 
nial hall ;  and  mamma  stands  out  for  linen-closets  and 
bathing-rooms  and  all  that ;  and  so  among  them  all  it 
will  just  end  in  getting 'them  head  over  ears  in  debt." 

The  thing  struck  me  as  not  improbable. 

"I  don't  know,  Jenny,  whether  my  writing  an  ar- 
ticle is  going  to  prevent  all  this ;  but  as  my  time  in  the 


Our  House.  271 

'Atlantic'  is  coming  round,  I  may  as  well  write  on 
what  I  am  obliged  to  think  of,  and  so  I  will  give  a 
paper  on  the  subject  to  enliven  our  next  evening's 
session." 

So  that  evening,  when  Bob  and  Marianne  had 
dropped  in  as  usual,  and  while  the  customary  work 
of  drawing  and  rubbing-out  was  going  on  at  Mrs. 
Crowfield's  sofa,  I  produced  my  paper  and  read  as 
follows  :  — 

OUR    HOUSE. 

THERE  is  a  place  called  "  Our  House,"  which  every- 
body knows  of.  The  sailor  talks  of  it  in  his  dreams 
at  sea.  The  wounded  soldier,  turning  in  his  uneasy 
hospital-bed,  brightens  at  the  word ;  it  is  like  the 
dropping  of  cool  water  in  the  desert,  like  the  touch 
of  cool  fingers  on  a  burning  brow.  "  Our  house,"  he 
says  feebly,  and  the  light  conies  back  into  Jiis  dim 
eyes,  —  for  all  homely  charities,  all  fond  thoughts,  all 
purities,  all  that  man  loves  on  earth  or  hopes  for  in 
heaven,  rise  with  the  word. 

"  Our  house  "  may  be  in  any  style  of  architecture, 
low  or  high.  It  may  be  the  brown  old  farm-house, 
with  its  tall  well-sweep ;  or  the  one-story  gambrel-roofed 
cottage ;  or  the  large,  square,  white  house,  with  green 
blinds,  under  the  wind-swung  elms  of  a  century ;  or 
it  may  be  the  log-cabin  of  the  wilderness,  with  its  one 


272  House  and  Home  Papers. 

room,  —  still  there  is  a  spell  in  the  memory  of  it  be- 
yond all  conjurations.  Its  stone  and  brick  and  mortar 
are  like  no  other;  its  very  clapboards  and  shingles 
are  dear  to  us,  powerful  to  bring  back  the  memories 
of  early  days,  and  all  that  is  sacred  in  home-love. 

"  Papa  is  getting  quite  sentimental,"  whispered  Jen- 
ny, loud  enough  for  me  to  hear.  I  shook  my  head  at 
her  impressively,  and  went  on  undaunted. 

There  is  no  one  fact  of  our  human  existence  that 
has  a  stronger  influence  upon  us  than  the  house  we 
dwell  in,  —  especially  that  in  which  our  earlier  and 
more  impressible  years  are  spent.  The  building  and 
arrangement  of  a.  house  influence  the  health,  the  com- 
fort, the  morals,  the  religion.  There  have  been  houses 
built  so  devoid  of  all  consideration  for  the  occupants, 
so  rambling  and  hap-hazard  in  the  disposal  of  rooms, 
so  sunless  and  cheerless  and  wholly  without  snugness 
or  privacy,  as  to  make  it  seem  impossible  to  live  a 
joyous,  generous,  rational,  religious  family-life  in  them. 

There  are,  we  shame  to  say,  in  our  cities  things 
called  houses,  built  and  rented  by  people  who  walk 
erect  and  have  the  general  air  and  manner  of  civilized 
and  Christianized  men,  which  are  so  inhuman  in  their 
building  that  they  can  only  be  called  snares  and  traps 
for  souls,  —  places  where  children  cannot  well  escape 


Our  Hoiise.  273 

growing  up  filthy  and  impure,  —  places  where  to  form 
a  home  is  impossible,  and  to  live  a  decent,  Christian 
life  would  require  miraculous  strength. 

A  celebrated  British  philanthropist,  who  had  de- 
voted much  study  to  the  dwellings  of  the  poor,  gave 
it  as  his  opinion  that  temperance-societies  were  a 
hopeless  undertaking  in  London,  unless  these  dwell- 
ings underwent  a  transformation.  They  were  so 
squalid,  so  dark,  so  comfortless,  so  constantly  press- 
ing upon  the  senses  foulness,  pain,  and  inconven- 
ience, that  it  was  only  by  being  drugged  with  gin  and 
opium  that  their  miserable  inhabitants  could  find  heart 
to  drag  on  life  from  day  to  day.  He  had  himself  tried 
the  experiment  of  reforming  a  drunkard  by  taking  him 
from  one  of  these  loathsome  dens,  and  enabling  him 
to  rent  a  tenement  in  a  block  of  model  lodging-houses 
which  had  been  built  under  his  supervision.  The 
young  man  had  been  a  designer  of  figures  for  prints ; 
he  was  of  a  delicate  frame,  and  a  nervous,  susceptible 
temperament.  Shut  in  one  miserable  room  with  his 
wife  and  little  children,  without  the  possibility  of  pure 
air,  with  only  filthy,  fetid  water  to  drink,  with  the 
noise  of  other  miserable  families  resounding  through 
the  thin  partitions,  what  possibility  was  there  of  doing 
anything  except  by  the  help  of  stimulants,  which  for 
a  brief  hour  lifted  him  above  the  perception  of  these 

miseries  ?     Changed  at  once  to  a  neat  flat,  where,  for 
12* 


274  House  and  Home  Papers. 

the  same  rent  as  his  former  den,  he  had  three  good 
rooms,  with  water  for  drinking,  house-service,  and 
bathing  freely  supplied,  and  the  blessed  sunshine  and 
air  coming  in  through  windows  well  arranged  for  ven- 
tilation, he  became  in  a  few  weeks  a  new  man.  In 
the  charms  of  the  little  spot  which  he  could  call  home, 
its  quiet,  its  order,  his  former  talent  came  back  to  him, 
and  he  found  strength,  in  pure  air  and  pure  water  and 
those  purer  thoughts  of  which  they  are  the  emblems, 
to  abandon  burning  and  stupefying  stimulants. 

The  influence  of  dwelling-houses  for  good  or  for 
evil  —  their  influence  on  the  brain,  the  nerves,  and, 
through  these,  on  the  heart  and  life  —  is  one  of  those 
things  that  cannot  be  enough  pondered  by  those  who 
build  houses  to  sell  or  rent. 

Something  more  generous  ought  to  inspire  a  man. 
than  merely  the  percentage  which  he  can  get  for  his 
money.  He  who  would  build  houses  should  think 
a  little  on  the  subject.  He  should  reflect  what  houses 
are  for, — what  they  maybe  made  to  do  for  human 
beings.  The  great  majority  of  houses  in  cities  are 
not  built  by  the  indwellers  themselves,  —  they  are 
built  for  them  by  those  who  invest  their  money  in 
this  way,  with  little  other  thought  than  the  percentage 
which  the  investment  will  return. 

For  persons  of  ample  fortune  there  are,  indeed, 
palatial  residences,  with  all  that  wealth  can  do  to 


Our  House.  275 

render  life  delightful.  But  in  that  class  of  houses 
which  must  be  the  lot  of  the  large  majority,  those 
which  must  be  chosen  by  young  men  in  the  begin- 
ning of  life,  when  means  are  comparatively  restricted, 
there  is  yet  wide  room  for  thought  and  the  judicious 
application  of  money. 

In  looking  over  houses  to  be  rented  by  persons  of 
moderate  means,  one  cannot  help  longing  to  build,  — 
one  sees  so  many  ways  in  which  the  same  sum  which 
built  an  inconvenient  and  unpleasant  house,  might 
have  been  made  to  build  a  delightful  one. 

"That's  so!"  said  Bob,  with  emphasis.  "Don't 
you  remember,  Marianne,  how  many  dismal,  com- 
monplace, shabby  houses  we  trailed  through?" 

""Yes,"  said  Marianne.  "You  remember  those 
houses  with  such  little  squeezed  rooms  and  that  flour- 
ishing staircase,  with  the  colored-glass  china-closet  win- 
dow, and  no  butler's  sink  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bob  ;  "  and  those  astonishing,  abom- 
inable stone  abortions  that  adorned  the  door-steps. 
People  do  lay  out  a  deal  of  money  to  make  houses 
look  ugly,  it  must  be  confessed." 

"One  would  willingly,"  said  Marianne,  "dispense 
with  frightful  stone  ornaments  in  front,  and  with  heavy 
mouldings  inside,  which  are  of  no  possible  use  or 
beauty,  and  with  showy  plaster  cornices  and  centre 


276  House  and  Home  Papers. 

pieces  in  the  parlor-ceilings,  and  even  with  marble 
mantels,  for  the  luxury  of  hot  and  cold  water  in  each 
chamber,  and  a  couple  of  comfortable  bath-rooms. 
Then,  the  disposition  of  windows  and  doors  is  so 
wholly  without  regard  to  convenience !  How  often 
we  find  rooms,  meant  for  bedrooms,  where  really  there 
is*no  good  place  for  either  bed  or  dressing-table !  " 

Here  my  wife  looked  up,  having  just  finished  re- 
drawing the  plans  to  the  latest  alteration. 

"  One  of  the  greatest  reforms  that  could  be,  in  these 
reforming  days,"  she  observed,  "would  be  to  have 
women  architects.  The  mischief  with  houses  built 
to  rent  is  that  they  are  all  mere  male  contrivances. 
No  woman  would  ever  plan  chambers  where  there 
is  no  earthly  place  to  set  a  bed  except  against  a  win- 
dow or  door,  or  waste  the  room  in  entries  that  might 
be  made  into  closets.  I  don't  see,  for  my  part,  apro- 
pos to  the  modern  movement  for  opening  new  profes- 
sions to  the  female  sex,  why  there  should  not  be 
well-educated  female  architects.  The  planning  and 
'arrangement  of  houses,  and  the  laying-out  of  grounds, 
are  a  fair  subject  of  womanly  knowledge  and  taste. 
It  is  the  teaching  of  Nature.  What  would  anybody 
think  of  a  bluebird's  nest  that  had  been  built  entirely 
by  Mr.  Blue,  without  the  help  of  his  wife  ? " 

"My  dear,"  said  I,  "you  must  positively  send  a 
paper  on  this  subject  to  the  next  Woman's-Rights 
Convention." 


Our  House.  277 

§ 

"  I  am  of  Sojourner  Truth's  opinion,"  said  my  wife, 
—  "  that  the  best  way  to  prove  the  propriety  of  one's 
doing  anything  is  to  go  and  do  it.  A  woman  who 
should  have  energy  to  go  through  the  preparatory 
studies  and  set  to  work  in  this  field  would,  I  am  sure, 
soon  find  employment." 

"  If  she  did  as  well  as  you  would  do,  my  dear,"  said 
I.  "  There  are  plenty  of  young  women  in  our  Boston 
high-schools  who  are  going  through  higher  fields  of 
mathematics  than  are  required  by  the  architect,  and 
the  schools  for  design  show  the  flexibility  and  fertil- 
ity of  the  female  pencil.  The  thing  appears  to  me 
altogether  more  feasible  than  many  other  openings 
which  have  been  suggested  to  woman." 

"  Well,"  said  Jenny,  "  is  n't  papa  ever  to  go  on 
with  his  paper?" 

I  continued  :  — 

What  ought  "  our  house  "  to  be  ?  Could  any  other 
question  be  asked  admitting  in  its  details  of  such 
varied  answers,  —  answers  various  as  the  means,  the 
character,  and  situation  of  different  individuals  ?  But 
there  are  great  wants  pertaining  to  every  human  being, 
into  which  all  lesser  ones  run.  There  are  things  in  a 
house  that  every  one,  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  ought, 
according  to  his  means,  to  seek.  I  think  I  shall  class 
them  according  to  the  elemental  division  of  the  old 


278  House  and  Home  Papers. 

philosophers,  —  Fire,  Air,  Earth,  and  Water.  These 
form  the  groundwork  of  this  need-be,  —  the  sine-qua- 
nons  of  a  house. 

"  Fire,  air,  earth,  and  water !  I  don't  understand," 
said  Jenny. 

"  Wait  a  little  till  you  do,  then,"  said  I.  "  I  will 
try  to  make  my  meaning  plain." 

The  first  object  of  a  house  is  shelter  from  the  ele- 
ments. This  object  is  effected  by  a  tent  or  wigwam 
which  keeps  off  rain  and  wind.  The  first  disadvan- 
tage of  this  shelter  is,  that  the  vital  air  which  you  take 
into  your  lungs,  and  on  the  purity  of  which  depends 
the  purity  of  blood  and  brain  and  nerve,  is  vitiated. 
In  the  wigwam  or  tent  you  are  constantly  taking  in 
poison,  more  or  less  active,  with  every  inspiration. 
Napoleon  had  his  army  sleep  without  tents.  He 
stated,  that  from  experience,  he  found  it  more  healthy ; 
and  wonderful  have  been  the  instances  of  delicate  per- 
sons gaining  constantly  in  vigor  from  being  obliged, 
in  the  midst  of  hardships,  to  sleep  •  constantly  in  the 
open  air.  Now  the  first  problem  in  house-building  is 
to  combine  the  advantage  of  shelter  with  the  fresh 
elasticity  of  out-door  air.  I  am  not  going  to  give  here 
a  treatise  on  ventilation,  but  merely  to  say,  in  general 
terms,  that  the  first  object  of  a  house-builder  or  con- 


Our  House.  279 

triver  should  be  to  make  a  healthy  house ;  and  the  first 
requisite  of  a  healthy  house  is  a  pure,  sweet,  elastic  air. 

I  am  in  favor,  therefore,  of  those  plans  of  house- 
building which  have  wide  central  spaces,  whether 
halls  or  courts,  into  which  all  the  rooms  open,  and 
which  necessarily  preserve  a  body  of  fresh  air  for  the 
use  of  them  all.  In  hot  climates  this  is  the  object 
of  the  central  court  which  cuts  into  the  body  of  the 
house,  with  its  fountain  and  flowers,  and  its  galleries, 
into  which  the  various  apartments  open.  When  peo- 
ple are  restricted  for  space,  and  cannot  afford  to  give 
up  wide  central  portions  of  the  house  for  the  mere 
purposes  of  passage,  this  central  hall  can  be  made 
a  pleasant  sitting-room.  With  tables,  chairs,  book- 
cases, and  sofas  comfortably  disposed,  this  ample 
central  room  above  and  below  is,  in  many  respects, 
the  most  agreeable  lounging-room  of  the  house ;  while 
the  parlors  below  and  the  chambers  above,  opening 
upon  it,  form  agreeable  withdrawing-fooms  for  pur- 
poses of  greater  privacy. 

It  is  customary  with  many  persons  to  sleep  with 
bedroom  windows  open,  —  a  very  imperfect  and  often 
dangerous  mode  of  procuring  that  supply  of  fresh  air 
which  a  sleeping-room  requires.  In  a  house  con- 
structed in  the  manner  indicated,  windows  might  be 
freely  left  open  in  these  central  halls,  producing  there 
a  constant  movement  of  air,  and  the  doors  of  the  bed- 


280  House  and  Home  Papers. 

rooms  placed  ajar,  when  a  very  slight  opening  in  the 
windows  would  create  a  free  circulation  through  the 
apartments. 

In  the  planning  of  a  house,  thought  should  be  had 
as  to  the  general  disposition  of  the  windows,  and  the 
quarters  from  which  favoring  breezes  may  be  expected 
should  be  carefully  considered.  Windows  should  be 
so  arranged  that  draughts  of  air  can  be  thrown  quite 
through  and  across  the  house.  .  How  often  have  we 
seen  pale  mothers  and  drooping  babes  fanning  and 
panting  during  some  of  our  hot  days  on  the  sunny 
side  of  a  house,  while  the  breeze  that  should  have 
cooled  them  beat  in  vain  against  a  dead  wall !  One 
longs  sometimes  to  knock  holes  through  partitions, 
and  let  in  the  air  of  heaven. 

No  other  gift  of  God,  so  precious,  so  inspiring,  is 
treated  with  such  utter  irreverence  and  contempt  in 
the  calculations  of  us  mortals  as  this  same  air  of 
heaven.  A  sermon  on  oxygen,  if  one  had  a  preacher 
who  understood  the  subject,  might  do  more  to  repress 
sin  than  the  most  orthodox  discourse  to  show  when 
and  how  and  why  sin  came.  A  minister  gets  up  in 
a  crowded  lecture-room,  where  the  mephitic  air  almost 
makes  the  candles  burn  blue,  and  bewails  the  dead- 
ness  of  the  church,  —  the  church  the  while,  drugged 
by  the  poisoned  air,  growing  sleepier  and  sleepier, 
though  they  feel  dreadfully  wicked  for  being  so. 


Our  House.  281 

Little  Jim,  who,  fresh  from  his  afternoon's  ramble 
in  the  fields,  last  evening  said  his  prayers  dutifully, 
and  lay  down  to  sleep  in  a  most  Christian  frame,  this 
morning  sits  up  in  bed  with  his  hair  bristling  with 
crossness,  strikes  at  his  nurse,  and  declares  he  won't 
say  his  prayers,  —  that  he  don't  want  to  be  good. 
The  simple  difference  is,  that  the  child,  having  slept 
in  a  close  box  of  a  room,  his  brain  all  night  fed  by 
poison,  is  in  a  mild  state  of  moral  insanity.  Deli- 
cate women  remark  that  it  takes  them  till  eleven  or 
twelve  o'clock  to  get  up  their  strength  in  the  morning. 
Query,  —  Do  they  sleep  with  closed  windows  and 
doors,  and  with  heavy  bed-curtains? 

The  houses  built  by  our  ancestors  were  better  ven- 
tilated in  certain  respects  than  modern  ones,  with. all 
their  improvements.  The  great  central  chimney,  with 
its  open  fireplaces  in  the  different  rooms,  created  a 
constant  current  which  carried  off  foul  and  vitiated 
air.  In  these  days,  how  common  is  it  to  provide 
rooms  with  only  a  flue  for  a  stove  !  This  flue  is  kept 
shut  in  summer,  and  in  winter  opened  only  to  admit 
a  close  stove,  which  burns  away  the  vital  portion  of 
the  air  quite  as  fast  as  the  occupants  breathe  it  away. 
The  sealing-up  of  fireplaces  and  introduction  of  air- 
tight stoves  may,  doubtless,  be  a  saving  of  fuel :  it 
saves,  too,  more  than  that;  in  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  cases  it  has  saved  people  from  all  further 


282  House  and  Home  Papers. 

human  wants,  and  put  an  end  forever  to  any  needs 
short  of  the  six  feet  of  narrow  earth  which  are  man's 
only  inalienable  property.  In  other  words,  since  the 
invention  of  air-tight  stoves,  thousands  have  died  of 
slow  poison.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  reflect  upon, 
that  our  northern  winters  last  from  November  to 
May,  six  long  months,  in  which  many  families  confine 
themselves  to  one  room,  of  which  every  window-crack 
has  been  carefully  calked  to  make  it  air-tight,  where 
an  air-tight  stove  keeps  the  atmosphere  at  a  tempera- 
ture between  eighty  and  ninety,  and  the  inmates  sit- 
ting there  with  all  their  winter  clothes  on  become 
enervated  both  by  the  heat  and  by  the  poisoned  air, 
for  which  there  is  no  escape  but  the  occasional  open- 
ing of  a  door. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  first  result  of  all  this  is 
such  a  delicacy  of  skin  and  lungs  that  about  half  the 
inmates  are  obliged  to  give  up  going  into  the  open 
air  during  the  six  cold  months,  because  they  invari- 
ably catch  cold,  if  they  do  so.  It  is  no  wonder  that 
the  coJd  caught  about  the  first  of  December  has  by 
the  first  of  March  become  a  fixed  consumption,  and 
that  the  opening  of  the  spring,  which  ought  to  bring 
life  and  health,  in  so  many  cases  brings  death. 

We  hear  of  the  lean  condition  in  which  the  poor 
bears  emerge  from  their  six-months'  wintering,  during 
which  they  subsist  on  the  fat  which  they  have  acquired 


Our  House.  283 

the  previous  summer.  Even  so  in  our  long  winters, 
multitudes  of  delicate  people  subsist  on  the  daily 
waning  strength  which  they  acquired  in  the  season 
when  windows  and  doors  were  open,  and  fresh  air 
was  a  constant  luxury.  No  wonder  we  hear  of  spring 
fever  and  spripg  biliousness,  and  have  thousands  of 
nostrums  for  clearing  the  blood  in  the  spring.  All 
these  things  are  the  pantings  and  palpitations  of  a 
system  run  down  under  slow  poison,  unable  to  get 
a  step  farther.  Better,  far  better,  the  old  houses  of 
the  olden  time,  with  their  great  roaring  fires,  and  their 
bedrooms  where  the  snow  came  in  and  the  wintry 
winds  whistled.  Then,  to  be  sure,  you  froze  your 
back  while  you  burned  your  face,  your  water  froze 
nightly  in  your  pitcher,  your  breath  congealed  in  ice- 
wreaths  on  the  blankets,  and  you  could  write  your 
name  on  the  pretty  snow-wreath  that  had  sifted  in 
through  the  window-cracks.  But  you  woke  full  of  life 
and  vigor, — you  looked  out  into  whirling  snow-storms 
without  a  shiver,  and  thought  nothing  of  plunging 
through  drifts  as  high  as  your  head  on  your  daily  way 
to  school.  You  jingled  in  sleighs,  you  snowballed, 
you  lived  in  snow  like  a  snow-bird,  and  your  blood 
coursed  and  tingled,  in  full  tide  of  good,  merry,  real 
life,  through  your  veins,  —  none  of  the  slow-creeping, 
black  blood  which  clogs  the  brain  and  lies  like  a 
weight  on  the  vital  wheels ! 


284  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  Mercy  upon  us,  papa ! "  said  Jenny,  "  I  hope  we 
need  not  go  back  to  such  houses  !  " 

"  No,  my  dear,"  I  replied.  "  I  only  said  that  such 
houses  were  better  than  those  which  are  all  winter 
closed  by  double  windows  and  burnt-out  air-tight 
stoves." 

The  perfect  house  is  one  in  which  there  is  a  con- 
stant escape  of  every  foul  and  vitiated  particle  of  air 
through  one  opening,  while  a  constant  supply  of  fresh 
out-door  air  is  admitted  by  another.  In  winter,  this 
out-door  air  must  pass  through  some  process  by  which 
it  is  brought  up  to  a  temperate  warmth. 

Take  a  single  room,  and  suppose  on  one  side  a  cur- 
rent of  out-door  air  which  has  been  warmed  by  pass- 
ing through  the  air-chamber  of  a  modern  furnace.  Its 
temperature  need  not  be  above  sixty-five,  —  it  answers 
breathing  purposes  better  at  that.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  room  let  there  be  an  open  wood-  or  coal-fire. 
One  cannot  conceive  the  purposes  of  warmth  and 
ventilation  more  perfectly  combined. 

Suppose  a  house  with  a  great  central  hall,  into 
which  a  current*  of  'fresh,  temperately  warmed  air  is 
continually  pouring.  Each  chamber  opening  upon 
this  hall  has  a  chimney  up  whose  flue  the  rarefied  air 
is  constantly  passing,  drawing  up  with  it  all  the  foul 
and  poisonous  gases.  That  house  is  well  ventilated, 


Our  House.  285 

and  in  a  way  that  need  bring  no  dangerous  draughts 
upon  the  most  delicate  invalid.  For  the  better  se- 
curing of  privacy  in  sleeping-rooms,  we  have  seen  two 
doors  employed,  one  of  which  is  made  with  slats,  like 
a  window-blind,  so  that  air  is  freely  transmitted  with- 
out exposing  the  interior. 

When  we  speak  of  fresh  air,  we  insist  on  the  full 
rigor  of  the  term.  It  must  not  be  the  air  of  a  cellar, 
heavily  laden  with  the  poisonous  nitrogen  of  turnips 
and  cabbages,  but  good,  fresh,  out-door  air  from  a  cold- 
air  pipe,  so  placed  as  not  to  get  the  lower  stratum 
near  the  ground,  where  heavy  damps  and  exhalations 
collect,  but  high  up,  in  just  the  clearest  and  most  elas- 
tic region. 

The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  is,  that  as  all  of 

/ 
man's  and  woman's  peace  and  comfort,  all  their  love, 

all  their  amiability,  all  their  religion,  have  got  to  come 
to  them,  while  they  live  in  this  world,  through  the 
medium  of  the  brain,  —  and  as  black,  uncleansed 
blood  acts  on  the  brain  as  a  poison,  and  as  no  other 
than  black,  uncleansed  blood  can  be  got  by  the  lungs 
out  of  impure  air, — the  first  object  of  the  man  who 
builds  a  house  is  to  secure  a  pure  and  healthy  atmos- 
phere therein. 

Therefore,  in  allotting  expenses,  set  this  down  as  a 
must-be:  "  Our  house  must  have  fresh  air,  —  every- 
where, "at  all  times,  winter  and  summer."  Whether 


286  House  and  Home  Papers. 

we  have  stone  facings  or  no,  — whether  our  parlor  has 
cornices  or  marble  mantles  or  no,  —  whether  our 
doors  are  machine-made  or  hand-made.  All  our  fix- 
tures shall  be  of  the  plainest  and  simplest,  but  we 
will  have  fresh  air.  We  will  open  our  door  with  a 
latch  and  string,  if  we  cannot  afford  lock  and  knob 
and  fresh  air  too,  —  but  in  our  house  we  will  live 
cleanly  and  Christianly.  We  will  no  more  breathe 
the  foul  air  rejected  from  a  neighbor's  lungs  than 
we  will  use  a  neighbor's  tooth-brush  and  hair-brush. 
Such  is  the  first  essential  of  "our  house,"  —  the 
first  great  element  of  human  health  and  happiness, 
—  AIR. 

"I  say,  Marianne,"  said  Bob,  "have  we  got  fire- 
places in  our  chambers  ? " 

"  Mamma  took  care  of  that,"  said  Marianne. 

"  You  may  be  quite  sure,"  said  I,  "if  your  .mother 
has  had  a  hand  in  planning  your  house,  that  the  ven- 
tilation is  cared  for." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Bob's  principal  idea  in  a 
house  had  been  a  Gothic  library,  and  his  mind  had 
labored  more  on  the  possibility  of  adapting  some  fa- 
vorite bits  from  the  baronial  antiquities  to  modern 
needs  than  on  anything  so  terrestrial  as  air.  There- 
fore he  awoke  as  from  a  dream,  and  taking  two  or 
three  monstrous  inhalations,  he  seized  the  pla"ns  and 


Our  House.  287 

began  looking  over  them  with  new  energy.     Mean- 
while I  went  on  with  my  prelection. 

The  second  great  vital  element  for  which  provision 
must  be  made  in  "  our  house  "  is  FIRE.  By  which  I 
do  not  mean  merely  artificial  fire,  but  fire  in  all  its 
extent  and  branches,  —  the  heavenly  fire  which  God 
sends  us  daily  on  the  bright  wings  of  sunbeams,  as 
well  as  the  mimic  fires  by  which  we  warm  our  dwell- 
ings, cook  our  food,  and  light  our  nightly  darkness. 

To  begin,  then,  with  heavenly  fire  or  sunshine.  If 
God's  gift  of  vital  air  is  neglected  and  undervalued, 
His  gift  of  sunshine  appears  to  be  hated.  There  are 
many  houses  where  not  a  cent  has  been  expended  on 
ventilation,  but  where  hundreds  of  dollars  have  been 
freely  lavished  to  keep  out  the  sunshine.  The  cham- 
ber, truly,  is  tight  as  a  box,  —  it  has  no  fireplace,  not 
even  a  ventilator  opening  into  the  stove-flue  j  but,  oh, 
joy  and  gladness  !  it  has  outside  blinds  and  inside 
folding-shutters,  so  that  in  the  brightest  of  days  we 
may  create  there  a  darkness  that  may  be  felt.  To 
observe  the  generality  of  New-England  houses,  a 
spectator  might  imagine  they  were  planned  for  the 
torrid  zone,  where  the  great  object  is  to  keep  out  a 
furnace-draught  of  burning  air. 

But  let  us  look  over  the  months  of  our  calendar. 
In  which  of  them  do  we  not  need  fires  on  our  hearths  ? 


288  House  and  Home  Papers. 

We  will  venture  to  say  that  from  October  to  June  all 
families,  whether  they  actually  have  it  or  not,  would 
be  the  more  comfortable  for  a  morning  and  evening 
fire.  For  eight  months  in  the  year  the  weather  varies 
on  the  scale  of  cool,  cold,  colder,  and  freezing ;  and 
for  all  the  four  other  months  what  is  the  number  of 
days  that  really  require  the  torrid-zone  system  of 
shutting  up  houses  ?  We  all  know  that  extreme  heat 
is  the  exception,  and  not  the  rule. 

Yet  let  anybody  travel,  as  I  did  last  year,  through 
the  valley  of  the  Connecticut,  and  observe  fhe  houses. 
All  clean  and  white  and  neat  and  well-to-do,  with 
their  turfy  yards  and  their  breezy  great  elms,  —  but 
all  shut  up  from  basement  to  attic,  as  if  the  inmates 
had  all  sold  out  and  gone  to  China.  Not  a  window- 
blind  open  above  or  below.  Is  the  house  inhabited  ? 
No,  —  yes,  —  there  is  a  faint  stream  of  blue  smoke 
from  the  kitchen-chimney,  and  half  a  window-blind 
open  in  some  distant  back-part  of  the  ho^use.  They 
are  living  there  in  the  dim  shadows,  bleaching  like 
potato-sprouts  in  the  cellar. 

"  I  can  tell  you  why  they  do  it,  papa,"  said  Jenny, 
—  "  It 's  the  flies,  and  flies  are  certainly  worthy  to  be 
one  of  the  plagues  of  Egypt  I  can  't  myself  blame 
people  that  shut  up  «their  rooms  and  darken  their 
houses  in  fly-time,  —  do  you,  mamma  ?  " 


Our  House.  289 

"  Not  in  extreme  cases ;  though  I  think  there  is  but 
a  short  season  when  this  is  necessary ;  yet  the  habit 
of  shutting  up  lasts  the  year  round,  and  gives  to  New- 
England  villages  that  dead,  silent,  cold,  uninhabited 
look  which  is  so  peculiar. 

"  The  one  fact  that  a  traveller  would  gather  in  pass- 
ing through  our  villages  would  be  this,"  said  I,  "  that 
the  people  live  in  their  houses  and  in  the  dark. 
Rarely  do  you  see  doors  and  windows  open,  people 
sitting  at  them,  chairs  in  the  yard,  and  signs  that  the 
inhabitants  are  living  out-of-doors." 

"  Well,"  said  Jenny,  "  I  have  told  you  why,  for  I 
have  been  at  Uncle  Peter's  in  summer,  and  aunt  does 
her  spring-cleaning  in  May,  and  then  she  shuts  all  the 
blinds  and  drops  all  the  curtains,  and  the  house  stays 
clean  till  October.  That's  the  whole  of  it.  If  she 
-had  all  her  windows  open,  there  would  be  paint  and 
windows  to  be  cleaned  every  week;  and  who  is  to 
do  it  ?  For  my  part,  I  can 't  much  blame  her." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  have  my  ddubts  about  the  sov- 
ereign efficacy  of  living  in  the  dark,  even  if  the  great 
object  of  existence  were  to  be  rid  of  flies.  I  remem- 
ber, during  this  same  journey,,  stopping  for  a  day  or 
two  at  a  country  boarding-house  which  was  dark  as 
Egypt  from  cellar  to  garret.  The  long,  dim,  gloomy 
dining-room  was  first  closed  by  outside  blinds,  and 
then  by  impenetrable  paper  curtains,  notwithstanding 


290  House  and  Home  Papers. 

which  it  swarmed  and  buzzed  like  a  beehive.  You 
found  where  the  cake-plate  was  by  the  buzz  which  your 
hand  made,  if  you  chanced  to  reach  in  that  direction. 
It  was  disagreeable,  because  in  the  darkness  flies 
could  not  always  be  distinguished  from  huckleberries  ; 
and  I  could  n't  help  wishing,  that,  since  we  must  have 
the  flies,  we  might  at  last  have  the  light  and  air  to 
console  us  under  them.  People  darken  their  rooms 
and  shut  up  every  avenue  of  out-door  enjoyment,  and 
sit  and  think  of  nothing  but  flies ;  in  fact,  flies  are  all 
they  have  left.  No  wonder  they  become  morbid  on 
the  subject." 

"  Well,  now,  papa  talks  just  like  a  man,  doesn't 
he  ? "  said  Jenny.  "  He  has  n't  the  responsibility  of 
keeping  things  clean.  I  wonder  what  he  would  do, 
if  he  were  a  housekeeper." 

"Do?  I  will  tell  you.  I  would  do  the  best  I 
could.  I  would  shut  my  eyes  on  fly-specks,  and 
open  them  on  the  beauties  of  Nature.  I  would  let 
the  cheerful  sun  in  all  day  long,  in  all  but  the  few 
summer  days  when  coolness  is  the  one  thing  needful : 
those  days  may  be  soon  numbered  every  year.  I 
would  make  a  calculation  in  the  spring  how  much  it 
would  cost  to  hire  a  woman  to  keep  my  windows 
and  paint  clean,  and  I  would  do  with  one  less  gown 
and  have  her ;  and  when  I  had  spent  all  I  could  afford 
on  cleaning  windows  and  paint,  I  would  harden  my 


Our  House.  291 

heart  and  turn  off  my  eyes,  and  enjoy  my  sunshine, 
and  my  fresh  air,  my  breezes,  and  all  that  can  be  seen 
through  the  picture-windows  of  an  open,  airy  house, 
and  snap  my  fingers  at  the  flies.  There  you  have  it." 

"  Papa's  hobby  is  sunshine,"  said  Marianne. 

"  Why  shouldn't  it  be  ?  Was  God  mistaken,  when 
He  made  the  sun  ?  Did  He  make  him  for  us  to  hold 
a  life's  battle  with  ?  Is  that  vital  power  which  reddens 
the  cheek  of  the  peach  and  pours  sweetness  through 
the  fruits  and  flowers  of  no  use  to  us  ?  Look  at 
plants  that  grow  without  sun,  —  Wan,  pale,  long-vis- 
aged, holding  feeble,  imploring  hands  of  supplication 
towards  the  light.  Can  human  beings  afford  to  throw 
away  a  vitalizing  force  so  pungent,  so  exhilarating? 
You  remember  the  experiment  of  a  prison,  where 
one  row  of  cells  had  daily  sunshine,  and  the  others 
none.  With  the  same  regimen,  the  same  cleanliness, 
the  same  care,  the  inmates  of  the  sunless  cells  were 
visited  with  sickness  and  death  in  double  measure. 
Our  whole  population  in  New  England  are  groaning 
and  suffering  under  afflictions,  the  result  of  a  depressed 
vitality,  —  neuralgia,  with  a  new  ache  for  every  day 
of  the  year,  rheumatism,  consumption,  general  de- 
bility; for  all  these  a  thousand  nostrums  are  daily 
advertised,  and  money  enough  is  spent  on  them  to 
equip  an  army,  while  we  are  fighting  against,  wasting, 
and  throwing  away  with  both  hands  that  blessed 


292  House  and  Home  Papers. 

influence  which  comes  nearest  to  pure  vitality  of  any- 
thing God  has  given. 

"  Who  is  it  that  the  Bible  describes  as  a  sun,  arising 
with  healing  in  his  wings  ?  Surely,  that  sunshine 
which  is  the  chosen  type  and  image  of  His  love  must 
be  healing  through  all  the  recesses  of  our  daily  life, 
drying  damp  and  mould,  defending  from  moth  and 
rust,  sweetening  ill  smells,  clearing  from  the  nerves 
the  vapors  of  melancholy,  making  life  cheery.  If  I 
did  not  know  Him,  I  should  certainly  adore  and  wor- 
ship the  sun,  the  most  blessed  and  beautiful  image  of 
Him  among  things  visible  !  In  the  land  of  Egypt,  in 
the  day  of  God's  wrath,  there  was  darkness,  but  in  the 
land  of  Goshen  there  was  light.  I  am  a  Goshenite, 
and  mean  to  walk  in  the  light,  and  forswear  the  works 
of  darkness.  But  to  proceed  with  our  reading." 

"  Our  house  "  shall  be  set  on  a  southeast  line,  so 
that  there  shall  not  be  a  sunless  room  in  it,  and  win- 
dows shall  be  so  arranged  that  it  can  be  traversed  and 
transpierced  through  and  through  with  those  bright 
shafts  of  light  which  come  straight  from  God. 

"  Our  house  "  shall  not  be  blockaded  with  a  dank, 
dripping  mass  of  shrubbery  set  plumb  against  the  win- 
dows, keeping  out  light  and  air.  There  shall  be  room 
all  round  it  for  breezes  to  sweep,  and  sunshine  to 
sweeten  and  dry  and  vivify ;  and  I  would  warn  all 


Our  House.  293 

good  souls  who  begin  life  by  setting  out  two  little  ever- 
green-trees within  a  foot  of  each  of  their  front-windows, 
that  these  trees  will  grow  and  increase  till  their  front- 
rooms  will  be  brooded  over  by  a  sombre,  stifling 
shadow  fit  only  for  ravens  to  croak  in. 

One  would  think,  by  the  way  some  people  hasten  to 
convert  a  very  narrow  front-yard  into  a  dismal  jungle, 
that  the  only  danger  of  our  New  England  climate  was 
sunstroke.  Ah,  in  those  drizzling  months  which  form 
at  least  one  half  of  our  life  here,  what  sullen,  censo- 
rious, uncomfortable,  unhealthy  thoughts  are  bred  of 
living  in  dark,  chilly  rooms,  behind  such  dripping 
thickets  ?  Our  neighbors'  faults  assume  a  deeper  hue, 
— life  seems  a  dismal  thing,  —  our  very  religion  grows 
mouldy. 

My  idea  of  a  house  is,  that,  as  far  as  is  consistent 
with  shelter  and  reasonable  privacy,  it  should  give  you 
on  first  entering  an  open,  breezy,  out-door  freshness  of 
sensation.  Every  window  should  be  a  picture;  sun 
and  trees  and  clouds  and  green  grass  should  seem 
never  to  be  far  from  us.  "  Our  house  "  may  shade  but 
not  darken  us.  "  Our  house  "  shall  have  bow-windows, 
many,  sunny,  and  airy,  —  not  for  the  purpose  of  being 
cleaned  and  shut  up,  but  to  be  open  and  enjoyed. 
There  shall  be  long  verandahs  above  and  below,  where 
invalids  may  walk  dry-shod,  and  enjoy  open-air  recre- 
ation in  wettest  weather.  In  short,  I  will  try  to  have 


294  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  our  house  "  combine  as  far  as  possible  the  sunny,  joy- 
ous, fresh  life  of  a  gypsy  in  the  fields  and  woods  with 
the  quiet  and  neatness  and  comfort  and  shelter  of  a 
roof,  rooms,  floors,  and  carpets. 

After  heavenly  fire,  I  have  a  word  to  say  of  earthly, 
artificial  fires.  Furnaces,  whether  of  hot  water,  steam, 
or  hot  air,  are  all  healthy  and  admirable  provisions  for 
warming  our  houses  during  the  eight  or  nine  months 
of  our  year  that  we  must  have  artificial  heat,  if  only, 
as  I  have  said,  fireplaces  keep  up  a  current  of  ventila- 
tion. 

The  kitchen-range  with  its  water-back  I  humbly  sa- 
lute. It  is  a  great  throbbing  heart,  and  sends  its  warm 
tides  of  cleansing,  comforting  fluid  all  through  the 
house.  One  could  wish  that  this  friendly  dragon  could 
be  in  some  way  moderated  in  his  appetite  for  coal,  — 
he  does  consume  without  mercy,  it  must  be  confessed, 
—  but  then  great  is  the  work  he  has  to  do.  At  any 
hour  of  day  or  night,  in  the  most  distant  part  of  your 
house,  you  have  but  to  turn  a  stop-cock  and  your  red 
dragon  sends  you  hot  water  for  your  needs ;  your 
washing-day  becomes  a  mere  play-day;  your  pantry 
has  its  ever-ready  supply ;  and  then,  by  a  little  judi- 
cious care  in  arranging  apartments  and  economizing 
heat,  a  range  may  make  two  or  three  chambers  com- 
fortable in  winter  weather.  A  range  with  a  water- 
back  is  among  the  must-bes  in  "our  house." 


Our  House.  295 

Then,  as  to  the  evening  light,  —  I  know  nothing  as 
yet  better  than  gas,  where  it  can  be  had.  I  would 
certainly  not  have  a  house  without  it.  The  great  ob- 
jection to  it  is  the  danger  of  its  escape  through  imper- 
fect fixtures.  But  it  must  not  do  this  ;  a  fluid  that  kills 
a  tree  or  a  plant  with  one  breath  must  certainly  be  a 
dangerous  ingredient  in  the  atmosphere,  and  if  admit- 
ted into  houses,  must  be.  introduced  with  every  safe- 
guard. 

There  are  families  living  in  the  country  who  make 
their  own  gas  by  a  very  simple  process.  This  is  worth 
an  inquiry  from  those  who  build.  There  are  also  con- 
trivances now  advertised,  with  good  testimonials,  of 
domestic  machines  for  generating  gas,  said  to  be 
perfectly  safe,  simple  to  be  managed,  and  producing  a 
light  superior  to  that  of  the  city  gas-works.  This 
also  is  worth  an  inquiry  when  "  our  house  "  is  to  be 
in  the  country. 

And  now  I  come  to  the  next  great  vital  element  for 
which  "  our  house  "  must  provide,  — WATER.  "  Water, 
water,  everywhere,"  —  it  must  be  plentiful,  it  must  be 
easy  to  get  at,  it  must  be  pure.  Our  ancestors  had 
some  excellent  ideas  in  home-living  and  house-build- 
ing. Their  houses  were,  generally  speaking,  very  sen- 
sibly contrived,  —  roomy,  airy,  and  comfortable;  but 

• 

in  their  water- arrangements  they  had  little  mercy  on 


296  Hoiise  and  Home  Papers. 

womankind.  The  well  was  out  in  the  yard  ;  and  in 
winter  one  must  flounder  through  snow  and  bring  up 
the  ice-bound  bucket,  before  one  could  fill  the  tea- 
kettle for  breakfast.  For  a  sovereign  princess  of  the 
republic  this  was  hardly  respectful  or  respectable. 
Wells  have  come  somewhat  nearer  in  modern  times ; 
but  the  idea  of  a  constant  supply  of  fresh  water  by  the 
simple  turning  of  a  stop-cock  has  not  yet  visited  the 
great  body  of  our  houses.  Were  we  free  to  build 
"  our  house "  just  as  we  wish  it,  there  should  be  a 
bath-room  to  every  two  or  three  inmates,  and  the  hot 
and  cold  water  should  circulate  to  every  chamber. 

Among  our  must-bes,  we  would  lay  by  a  generous 
sum  for  plumbing.  Let  us  have  our  bath-rooms,  and 
our  arrangements  for  cleanliness  and  health  in  kitchen 
and  pantry;  and  afterwards  let  the  quality  of  our 
lumber  and  the  style  of  our  finishings  be  according  to 
the  sum  we  have  left.  The  power  to  command  a 
warm  bath  in  a  house  at  any  hour  of  day  or  night  is 
better  in  bringing  up  a  family  of  children  than  any 
amount  of  ready  medicine.  In  three-quarters  of 
childish  ailments  the  warm  bath  is  an  almost  im- 
mediate remedy.  Bad  colds,  incipient  fevers,  rheu- 
matisms, convulsions,  neuralgias  imnumerable,  are 
washed  off  in  their  first  beginnings,  and  run  down  the 
lead  pipes  into  oblivion.  Have,  then,  O  friend,  all 
the  water  in  your  house  that  you  can  afford,  and  en- 


Our  House.  297 

large  your  ideas  of  the  worth  of  it,  that  you  may  afford 
a  great  deal.  A  bathing-room  is  nothing  to  you  that 
requires  an  hour  of  lifting  and  fire-making  to  prepare 
it  for  use.  The  apparatus  is  too  cumbrous,  —  you  do 
not  turn  to  it.  But  when  your  chamber  opens  upon" 
a  neat,  quiet  little  nook,  and  you  have  only  to  turn 
your  stop-cocks  and  all  is  ready,  your  remedy  is  at 
hand,  you  use  it  constantly.  You  are  waked  in  the 
night  by  a  scream,  and  find  little  Tom  sitting  up,  wild 
with  burning  fever.  In  three,  minutes  he  is  in  the 
bath,  quieted  and  comfortable;  you  get  him  back, 
cooled  and  tranquil,  to  his  little  crib,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing he  wakes  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Why  should  not  so  invaluable  and  simple  a  remedy 
for  disease,  such  a  preservative  of  health,  such  a  com- 
fort, such  a  stimulus,  be  considered  as  much  a  matter- 
ter-of-course  in  a  house  as  a  kitchen-chimney?  At 
least  there  should  be  one  bath-room  always  in  order, 
so  arranged  that  all  the  family  can  have  access  to  it, 
if  one  cannot  afford  the  luxury  of  many. 

A  house  in  which  water  is  universally  and  skilfully 
distributed  is  so  much  easier  to  take  care  of  as  almost 
to  verify  the*  saying  of  a  friend,  that  his  house  was  so 
contrived  that  it  did  its  own  work  :  one  had  better  do 
without  carpets  on  the  floors,  without  stuffed  sofas  and 
rocking-chairs,  and  secure  this. 


298  Hotise  and  Home  Papers. 

"  Well,  papa,"  said  Marianne,  "  you  have  made  out 
all  your  four  elements  in  your  house,  except  one.  I 
can't  imagine  what  you  want  of  earth" 

"  I  thought,"  said  Jenny,  "  that  the  less  of  our  com- 
'mon  mother  we  had  in  our  houses,  the  better  house- 
keepers we  were." 

"My  dears,"  said  I,  "we  philosophers  must  give 
an  occasional  dip  into  the  mystical,  and  say  something 
apparently  absurd  for  the  purpose  of  explaining  that 
we  mean  nothing  in  particular  by  it.  It  gives  com- 
mon people  an  idea  of  our  sagacity,  to  find  how  clear 
we  come  out  of  our  apparent  contradictions  and  ab- 
surdities. Listen." 

For  the  fourth  requisite  of  "  our  house,"  EARTH,  let 
me  point  you  to  your  mother's  plant-window,  and  beg 
you  to  remember  the  fact  that  through  our  long,  dreary 
winters  we  are  never  a  month  without  flowers,  and  the 
vivid  interest  which  always  attaches  to  growing  things. 
The  perfect  house,  as  I  conceive  it,  is  to  combine  as 
many  of  the  advantages  of  living  out  of  doors  as  may 
be  consistent  with  warmth  and  shelter,  and  one '  of 
these  is  the  sympathy  with  green  and  growing  things. 
Plants  are  nearer  in  their  relations  to  human  health 
and  vigor  than  is  often  imagined.  The  cheerfulness 
that  well-kept  plants  impart  to  a  room  comes  not 
merely  from  gratification  of  the  eye,  —  there  is  a 


Our  House.  299 

healthful  exhalation  from  them,  they  are  a  corrective 
of  the  impurities  of  the  atmosphere.  Plants,  too,  are 
valuable  as  tests  of  the  vitality  of  the  atmosphere ; 
their  drooping  and  failure  convey  to  us  information 
that  something  is  amiss  with  it.  A  lady  once  told  me 
that  she  could  never  raise  plants  in  her  parlors  on 
account  of  the  gas  and  anthracite  coal.  I  answered, 
"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  live  and  bring  up  your  children 
in  an  atmosphere  which  blights  your  plants  ? "  If  the 
gas  escapes  from  the  pipes,  and  the  red-hot  anthracite 
coal  or  the  red-hot  air-tight  stove  burns  out  all  the 
vital  part  of  the  air,  so  that  healthy  plants  in  a  few 
days  wither  and  begin  to  drop  their  leaves,  it  is  a  sign 
that  the  air  must  be  looked  to  and  reformed.  It  is  a 
fatal  augury  for  a  room  that  plants  cannot  be  made 
to  thrive  in  it.  Plants  should  not  turn  pale,  be  long- 
jointed,  long-leaved,  and  spindling ;  and  where  they 
grow  in  this  way,  we  may  be  certain  that  there  is  a 
want  of  vitality  for  human  beings.  But  where  plants 
appear  as  they  do  in  the  open  air,  with  vigorous,  stocky 
growth,  and  short-stemmed,  deep-green  leaves,  we  may 
believe  the  conditions  of  that  atmosphere  are  healthy 
for  human  lungs. 

It  is  pleasant  to  see  how  the  custom  of  plant-grow- 
ing has  spread  through  our  country.  In  how  many 
farm-house  windows  do  we  see  petunias  and  nastur- 
tiums vivid  with  bloom  while  snows  are  whirling  with- 


3OO  House  and  Home  Papers. 

out,  and  how  much  brightness  have  those  cheap  en- 
joyments shed  on  the  lives  of  those  who  cared  for 
them !  We  do  not  believe  there  is  a  human  being 
who  would  not  become  a  passionate  lover  of  plants, 
if  circumstances  once  made  it  imperative  to  tend  upon 
and  watch  the  growth  of  one.  The  history  of  Picciola 
for  substance  has  been  lived  over  and  over  by  many 
a  man  and  woman  who  once  did  not  know  that  there 
was  a  particle  of  plant-love  in  their  souls.  But  to  the 
proper  care  of  plants  in  pots  there  are  many  hin- 
drances and  drawbacks.  The  dust  chokes  the  little 
pores  of  their  green  lungs,  and  they  require  constant 
showering ;  and  to  carry  all  one's  plants  to  a  sink  or 
porch  for  this  purpose  is  a  labor  which  many  will  not 
endure.  Consequently  plants  often  do  not  get  a  show- 
ering once  a  month  !  We  should  try  to  imitate  more 
closely  the  action  of  Mother  Nature,  who  washes 
every  green  child  of  hers  nightly  with  dews,  which  lie 
glittering  on  its  leaves  till  morning. 

"  Yes,  there  it  is  ! "  said  Jenny.  "  I  think  I  could 
manage  with  plants,  if  it  were  not  for  this  eternal 
showering  and  washing  they  seem  to  require  to  keep 
them  fresh.  They  are  always  tempting  one  to  spatter 
the  carpet  and  surrounding  furniture,  which  are  not 
equally  benefited  by  the  libation." 

"  It  is  partly  for  that  very  reason,"  I  replied,  "  that 


Our  House.  301 

the  plan  of  '  our  house '  provides  for  the  introduction 
of  Mother  Earth,  as  you  will  see." 

A  perfect  house,  according  to  my  idea,  should  al- 
ways include- in  it  a  little  compartment  where  plants 
can  be  kept,  can  be  watered,  can  be  defended  from 
the  dust,  and  have  the  sunshine  and  all  the  conditions 
of  growth. 

People  have  generally  supposed  a  conservatory  to 
be  one  of  the  last  trappings  of  wealth,  —  something 
not  to  be  thought  of  for  those  in  modest  circumstances. 
But  is  this  so  ?  You  have  a  bow-window  in  your  par- 
lor. Leave  out  the  flooring,  fill  the  space  with  rich 
earth,  close  it  from  the  parlor  by  glass  doors,  and  you 
have  room  for  enough  plants  and  flowers  to  keep  you 
gay  and  happy  all  winter.  If  on  the  south  side,  where 
the  sunbeams  have  power,  it  requires  no  heat  but  that 
which  warms  the  parlor ;  and  the  comfort  of  it  is  in- 
calculable, and  the  expense  a  mere  trifle  greater  than 
that  of  the  bow-window  alone. 

In  larger  houses  a  larger  space  might  be  appro- 
priated in  this  way.  We  will  not  call  it  a  conser- 
vatory, because  that  name  suggests  ideas  of  garden- 
ers, and  mysteries  of  culture  and  rare  plants,  which 
bring  all  sorts  of  care  and  expense  in  their  train. 
We  would  rather  call  it  a  greenery,  a  room  floored 
with  earth,  with  glass  sides  to  admit  the  sun,  —  and 


302  House  and  Home  Papers. 

let  it  open  on  as  many  other  rooms  of  the  house  as 
possible. 

Why  should  not  the  dining-room  and  parlor  be  all 
winter  connected  by  a  spot  of  green  and  flowers,  with 
plants,  mosses,  and  ferns  for  the  shadowy  portions, 
and  such  simple  blooms  as  petunias  and  nastur- 
tiums garlanding  the  sunny  portion  near  the  windows  ? 
If  near  the  water-works,  this  greenery  might  be  en- 
livened by  the  play  of  a  fountain,  whose  constant 
spray  would  give  that  softness  to  the  air  which  is 
so  often  burned  away  by  the  dry  heat  of  the  fur- 
nace. 

"  And  do  you  really  think,  papa,  that  houses  built 
in  this  way  are  a  practical  result  to  be  aimed  at?" 
said  Jenny.  "  To  me  it  seems  like  a  dream  of  the 
Alhambra." 

"  Yet  I  happen  to  have  seen  real  people  in  our  day 
living  in  just  such  a  house,"  said  I.  "I  could  point 
you,  this  very  hour,  to  a  cottage,  which  in  style  of 
building  is  the  plainest  possible,  which  unites  many 
of  the  best  ideas  of  a  true  house.  My  dear,  can 
you  sketch  the  ground  plan  of  that  house  we  saw  in 
Brighton  ? " 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  my  wife,  after  a  few  dashes  with 
her  pencil,  —  "  an  inexpensive  house,  yet  one  of  the 
pleasantest  I  ever  saw." 


Our  House. 


303 


Q  0NS  E  RVATOfty 
Ib({NTAt)N 


HAII      ^ 


i 

P*™ 

WASH 

"°        ROOM 

a 

l 

:*-- 

1  L 

T 

c,  China-closet.     /,  Passage,      d,  Kitchen-closet 

"This  cottage,  which  might,  at  the  rate  of  prices 
before  the  war,  have  been  built  for  five  thousand  dol- 
lars, has  many  of  the  requirements  which  I  seek  for 
a  house.  It  has  two  stories,  and  a  tier  of  very  pleas- 
ant attic-rooms,  two  bathing-rooms,  and  the  water 
carried  into  each  story.  The  parlor  and  dining-room 
both  look  into  a  little  bower,  where  a  fountain  is  ever 
playing  into  a  little  marble  basin,  and  which  all  the 
year  through  has  its  green  and  bloom.  It  is  heated 
simply  from  the  furnace  by  a  register,  like  any  other 
room  of  the  house,  and  requires  no  more  care  than  a 
delicate  woman  could  easily  give.  The  brightness  and 
cheerfulness  it  brings  during  our  long,  dreary  winters  is 
incredible." 


But  one  caution  is  necessary  in  all  such  appendages. 
The  earth  must  be  thorougly  underdrained  to  prevent 


304  House  and  Home  Papers. 

the  vapors  of  stagnant  water,  and  have  a  large  admix- 
ture of  broken  charcoal  to  obviate  the  consequences 
of  vegetable  decomposition.  Great  care  must  be  taken 
that  there  be  no  leaves  left  to  fall  and  decay  on  the 
ground,  since  vegetable  exhalations  poison  the  air. 
With  these  precautions  such  a  plot  will  soften  and 
purify  the  air  of  a  house. 

Where  the  means  do  not  allow  even  so  small  a  con- 
servatory, a  recessed  window  might  be  fitted  with  a 
deep  box,  which  should  have  a  drain-pipe  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  a  thick  layer  of  broken  charcoal  and  gravel, 
with  a  mixture  of  fine  wood-soil  and  sand,  for  the  top 
stratum.  Here  ivies  may  be  planted,  which  will  run 
and  twine  and  strike  their  little  tendrils  here  and  there, 
and  give  the  room  in  time  the  aspect  of  a  bower ;  the 
various  greenhouse  nasturtiums  will  make  winter  gor- 
geous with  blossoms.  In  windows  unblest  by  sun- 
shine —  and,  alas,  such  are  many !  —  one  can  cultivate 
ferns  and  mosses ;  the  winter-growing  ferns,  of  which 
there  are  many  varieties,  can  be  mixed  with  mosses 
and  woodland  flowers. 

Early  in  February,  when  the  cheerless  frosts  of  winter 
seem  most  wearisome,  the  common  blue  violet,  wood- 
anemone,  hepatica,  or  rock-columbine,  if  planted  in 
this  way,  will  begin  to  bloom.  The  common  partridge- 
berry,  with  its  brilliant  scarlet  fruit  and  dark  green 
leaves,  will  also  grow  finely  in  such  situations,  and 


Our  House.  305 

have  a  beautiful  effect.  These  things  require  daily 
showering  to  keep  them  fresh,  and  the  moisture  aris- 
ing from  them  will  soften  and  freshen  the  too  dry  air 
of  heated  winter  rooms. 

Thus  I  have  been  through  my  four  essential  ele- 
ments in  house-building,  —  air,  fire,  water,  and  earth. 
I  would  provide  for  these  before  anything  else.  After 
they  are  secured,  I  would  gratify  my  taste  and  fancy 
as  far  as  possible  in  other  ways.  I  quite  agree  with 
Bob  in  hating  commonplace  houses,  and  longing  for 
some  little  bit  of  architectural  effect;  and  I  grieve 
profoundly  that  every  step  in  that  direction  must 
cost  so  much.  I  have  also  a  taste  for  niceness  of 
finish.  I  have  no  objection  to  silver-plated  door- 
locks  and  hinges,  none  to  windows  which  are  an 
entire  plate  of  clear  glass.  I  congratulate  neighbors 
who  are  so  fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  get  them ;  and 
after  I  have  put  all  the  essentials  into  a  house,  I  would 
have  these  too,  if  I  had  the  means. 

But  if  all  my  wood-work  were  to  be  without  groove 
or  moulding,  if  my  mantels  were  to  be  of  simple  wood, 
if  my  doors  were  all  to  be  machine-made,  and  my 
lumber  of  the  second  quality,  I  would  have  my  bath- 
rooms, my  conservatory,  my  sunny  bow-windows,  and 
my  perfect  ventilation  ;  and  my  house  would  then 
be  so  pleasant,  and  every  one  in  it  in  such  a  cheerful 

T 


House  and  Home  Papers. 

mood,  that  it  would  verily  seem  to  be  ceiled  with 
cedar. 

Speaking  of  ceiling  with  cedar,  I  have  one  thing 
more  to  say.  We  Americans  have  a  country  abound- 
ing in  beautiful  timber,  of  whose  beauties  we  know 
nothing,  on  account  of  the  pernicious  and  stupid  habit 
of  covering  it  with  white  paint. 

The  celebrated  /ebra  wood  with  its  golden  stripes 
cannot  exceed  in  quaint  beauty  the  grain  of  unpainted 
chestnut,  prepared  simply  with  a  coat  or  two  of  oil. 
The  butternut  has  a  rich  golden  brown,  the  very  dar- 
ling color  of  painters,  —  a  shade  so  rich,  and  grain  so 
beautiful,  that  it  is  of  itself  as  charming  to  look  at  as 
a  rich  picture.  The  black-walnut,  with  its  heavy  depth 
of  tone,  works  in  well  as  an  adjunct ;  and  as  to  oak, 
what  can  we  say  enough  of  its  quaint  and  many  shad- 
ings?  Even  common  pine,  which  has  been  consid- 
ered not  decent  to  look  upon  till  hastily  shrouded 
in  a  friendly  blanket  of  white  paint,  has,  when  oiled 
and  varnished,  the  beauty  of  satin-wood.  The  second 
quality  of  pine,  which  has  what  are  called  shakes  in  it, 
under  this  mode  of  treatment  often  shows  clouds  and 
veins  equal  in  beauty  to  the  choicest  woods.  The 
cost  of  such  a  finish  is  greatly  less  than  that  of  the  old 
method ;  and  it  saves  those  days  and  weeks  of  cleaning 
which  are  demanded  by  white  paint,  while  its  general 
tone  is  softer  and  more  harmonious.  Experiments  in 


Our  House.  307 

color  may  be  tried  in  the  combination  of  these  woods, 
which  at  small  expense  produce  the  most  charming 
effects. 

As  to  paper-hangings,  we  are  proud  to  say  that  our 
American  manufacturers  now  furnish  all  that  can  be 
desired.  There  are  some  branches  of  design  where 
artistic,  ingenious  France  must  still  excel  us ;  but 
whoso  has  a  house  to  fit  up,  let  him  first  look  at 
what  his  own  country  has  to  show,  and  he  will  be 
astonished. 

There  is  one  topic  in  house-building  on  which  I 
would  add  a  few  words.  The  difficulty  of  procuring 
and  keeping  good  servants,  which  must  long  be  one 
of  our  chief  domestic  troubles,  warns  us  so  to  arrange 
our  houses  that  we  shall  need  as  few  as  possible. 
There  is  the  greatest  conceivable  difference  in  the 
planning  and  building  of  houses  as  to  the  amount  of 
work  which  will  be  necessary  to  keep  them  in  respect- 
able condition.  Some  houses  require  a  perfect  staff 
of  house-maids ;  —  there  are  plated  hinges  to  be 
rubbed,  paint  to  be  cleaned,  with  intricacies  of  mould- 
ing and  carving  which  daily  consume  hours  of  dust- 
ing to  preserve  them  from  a  slovenly  look.  Simple 
finish,  unpainted  wood,  a  general  distribution  of  watei 
through  the  dwelling,  will  enable  a  very  large  house  to 
be  cared  for  by  one  pair  of  hands,  and  yet  maintain 
a  creditable  appearance. 


308  House  and  Home  Papers. 

In  kitchens  one  servant  may  perform  the  work  of 
two  by  a  close  packing  of  all  the  conveniences  for 
cooking  and  such  arrangements  as  shall  save  time  and 
steps.  Washing-day  may  be  divested  of  its  terrors  by 
suitable  provisions  for  water,  hot  and  cold,  by  wring- 
ers, which  save  at  once  the  strength  of  the  linen  and 
of  the  laundress,  and  by  drying-closets  connected  with 
ranges,  where  articles  can  in  a  few  moments  be  per- 
fectly dried.  These,  with  the  use  of  a  small  mangle, 
such  as  is  now  common  in  America,  reduce  the  labors 
of  the  laundry  one  half. 

There  are  many  more  things  which  might  be  said 
of  "our  house,"  and  Christopher  may,  perhaps,  find 
some  other  opportunity  to  say  them.  For  the  present 
his  pen  is  tired  and  ceaseth. 


XII. 

HOME    RELIGION. 

T  T  was  Sunday  evening,  and  our  little  circle  were 
•••  convened  by  my  study-fireside,  where  a  crackling 
hickory  fire  proclaimed  the  fall  of  the  year  to  be 
coming  on,  and  •  cold  weather  impending.  Sunday 
evenings,  my  married  boys  and  girls  are  fond  of  com- 
ing home  and  gathering  round  the  old  hearthstone, 
and  "  making  believe  "  that  they  are  children  again. 
We  get  out  the  old-fashioned  music-books,  and  sing 
old  hymns  to  very  old  tunes,  and  my  wife  and  her 
matron  daughters  talk  about  the  babies  in  the  inter- 
vals ;  and  we  discourse  of  the  sermon,  and  of  the 
choir,  and  all  the  general  outworks  of  good  pious 
things  which  Sunday  suggests. 

"  Papa,"  said  Marianne,  "  you  are  closing  up  your 
House  and  Home  Papers,  are  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  —  I  am  come  to  the  last  one,  for  this  year 
at  least." 

"My  dear,"  said  my  wife,  "there  is  one  subject 
you  have  n't  touched  on  yet ;  you  ought  not  to  close 
the  year  without  it ;  no  house  and  home  can  be  com- 
plete without  Religion  :  you  should  write  a  paper  on 
Home  Religion." 


3io  Hoiise  and  Home  Papers. 

My  wife,  as  you  may  have  seen  in  these  papers, 
is  an  old-fashioned  woman,  something  of  a. conserva- 
tive. I  am,  I  confess,  rather  given  to  progress  and 
speculation;  but  I  feel  always  as  if  I  were  going  on 
in  these  ways  with  a  string  round  my  waist,  and  my 
wife's  hand  steadily  pulling  me  back  into  the  old 
paths.  My  wife  is  a  steady,  Bible-reading,  Sabbath- 
keeping  woman,  cherishing  the  memory  of  her  fathers, 
and  loving  to  do  as  they  did,  —  believing,  for  the  most 
part,  that  the  paths  well  beaten  by  righteous  feet  are 
safest,  even  though  much  walking  therein  has  worn 
away  the  grass  and  flowers.  Nevertheless,  she  has  an 
indulgent  ear  for  all  that  gives  promise  of  bettering 
anybody  or  anything,  and  therefore  is  not  severe  on 
any  new  methods  that  may  arise  in  our  progressive 
days  of  accomplishing  old  good  objects. 

"There  must  be  a  home  religion,"  said  my  wife. 

"  I  believe  in  home  religion,"  said  Bob  Stephens,  — • 
"but  not  in  the  outward  show  of  it.  The  best  sort 
of  religion  is  that  which  one  keeps  at  the  bottom  of 
his  heart,  and  which  goes  up  thence  quietly  through 
all  his  actions,  and  not  the  kind  that  comes  through 
a  certain  routine  of  forms  and  ceremonies.  Do  you 
suppose  family  prayers,  now,  and  a  blessing  at  meals, 
make  people  any  better?" 

"  Depend  upon  it,  Robert,"  said  my  wife,  —  she 
always  calls  him  Robert  on  Sunday  evenings,  —  "  de- 


Home  Religion.  311 

pend  upon  it,  we  are  not  so  very  much  wiser  than  our 
fathers  were,  that  we  need  depart  from  their  good  old 
ways.  Of  course  I  would  have  religion  in  the  heart, 
and  spreading  quietly  through  the  life ;  but  does  this 
interfere  with  those  outward,  daily  acts  of  respect  and 
duty  which  we  owe  to  our  Creator  ?  It  is  too  mucl 
the  slang  of  our  day  to  decry  forms,  and  to  e 
the  excellency  of  the  spirit  in  opposition  to  them ;  but 
tell  me,  are  you  satisfied  with  friendship  that  has  none 
of  the  outward  forms  of  friendship,  or  love  that  has 
none  of  the  outward  forms  of  love  ?  Are  you  satisfied 
of  the  existence  of  a  sentiment  that  has  no  outward 
mode  of  expression  ?  Even  the  old  heathen  had  their 
pieties ;  they  would  not  begin  a  feast  without  a  liba- 
tion to  their  divinities,  and  there  was  a  shrine  in  every 
well-regulated  house  for  household  gods." 

"  The  trouble  with  all  these  things,"  said  Bob,  "  is 
that  they  get  to  be  mere  forms.  I  never  could  see 
that  family  worship  amounted  to  much  more  in  most 
families." 

"  The  outward  expression  of  all  good  things  is  apt 
to  degenerate  into  mere  form,"  said  I.  "  The  out- 
ward expression  of  social  good  feeling  becomes  a  mere 
form  ;  but  for  that  reason  must  we  meet  each  other  like 
oxen?  not  say,  'Good  morning/  or  'Good  evening,' 
or  '  I  am  happy  to  see  you '  ?  Must  we  never  use 
any  of  the  forms  of  mutual  good-will,  except  in  those 


cry 


312  House  and  Home  Papers. 

moments  when  we  are  excited  by  a  real,  present  emo- 
tion? What  would  become  of  society?  Forms  are, 
so  to  speak,  a  daguerrotype  of  a  past  good  feeling, 
meant  to  take  and  keep  the  impression  of  it  when  it 
is  gone.  Our  best  and  most  inspired  moments  are 

stallized  in  them ;  and  even  when  the  spirit  that 
created  them  is  gone,  they  help  to  bring  it  back. 
Every  one  must  be  conscious  that  the  use  of  the 
forms  of  social  benevolence,  even  towards  those  who 
are  personally  unpleasant  to  us,  tends  to  ameliorate 
prejudices.  We  see  a  man  entering  our  door  who  is  a 
weary  bore,  but  we  use  with  him  those  forms  of  civil- 
ity which  society  prescribes,  and  feel  far  kinder  to 
him  than  if  we  had  shut  the  door  in  his  face,  and  said, 
*  Go  along,  you  tiresome  fellow ! '  Now  why  does 
not  this  very  obvious  philosophy  apply  to  better  and 
higher  feelings?  The  forms  of  religion  are  as  much 
more  necessary  than  the  forms  of  politeness  and  social 
good-will  as  religion  is  more  important  than  all  other 
things." 

"  Besides,"  said  my  wife,  "  a  form  of  worship,  kept 
up  from  year  to  year  in  a  family,  —  the  assembling 
of  parents  and  children  for  a  few  sacred  moments 
each  day,  though  it  may  be  a  form  many  times, 
especially  in  the  gay  and  thoughtless  hours  of  life,  — 
often  becomes  invested  with  deep  sacredness  in  times 
of  trouble,  or  in  those  crises  that  rouse  our  deeper 


Home  Religion.  313 

feelings.  In  sickness,  in  bereavement,  in  separation, 
the  daily  prayer  at  home  has  a  sacred  and  healing 
power.  Then"  we  remember  the  scattered  and  wander- 
ing ones  j  and  the  scattered  and  wandering  think 
tenderly  of  that  hour  when  they  know  they  are  remem- 
bered. I  know,  when  I  was  a  young  girl,  I  was  often 
thoughtless  and  careless  about  family-prayers  j  but 
now  that  my  father  and  mother  are  gone  forever, 
there  is  nothing  I  recall  more  often.  I  remember  the 
great  old  Family  Bible,  the  hymn-book,  the  chair  where 
father  used  to  sit.  I  see  him  as  he  looked  bending 
over  that  Bible  more  than  in  any  other  way;  and 
expressions  and  sentences  in  his  prayers  which  fell 
unheeded  on  my  ears  in  those  days  have  often  come 
back  to  me  like  comforting  angels.  We  are  not  aware 
of  the  influence  things  are  having  on  us  till  we  have 
left  them  far  behind  in  years.  When  we  have  sum- 
mered and  wintered  them,  and  look  back  on  them  from 
changed  times  and  other  days,  we  find  that  they  were 
making  their  mark  upon  us,  though  we  knew  it  not." 

"I  have  often  admired,"  said  I,  "the  stateliness 
and  regularity  of  family-worship  in  good  old  families 
in  England,  —  the  servants,  guests,  and  children  all 
assembled,  —  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures  and  the 
daily  prayers  by  the  master  or  mistress  of  the  family, 
ending  with  the  united  repetition  of  the  Lord's  Prayer 
by  all." 

14 


314  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"No  such  assemblage  is  possible  in  our  country," 
said  Bob.  "  Our  servants  are  for  the  most  part  Ro- 
man Catholics,  and  forbidden  by  their  religion  to  join 
with  us  in  acts  of  worship." 

"  The  greater  the  pity,"  said  I.  "  It  is  a  pity  that 
all  Christians  who  can  conscientiously  repeat  the 
Apostles'  Creed  and  the  Lord's  Prayer  together  should 
for  any  reason  be  forbidden  to  do  so.  It  would  do 
more  to  harmonize  our  families,  and  promote  good 
feeling  between  masters  and  servants,  to  meet  once  a 
day  on  the  religious  ground  common  to  both,  than 
many  sermons  on  reciprocal  duties." 

"  But  while  the  case  is  so,"  said  Marianne,  "  we 
can't  help  it.  Our  servants  cannot  unite  with  us  ;  our 
daily  prayers  are  something  forbidden  to  them." 

"We  cannot  in  this  country,"  said  I,  "give  to  fam- 
ily prayer  that  solemn  stateliness  which  it  has  in  a 
country  where  religion  is  a  civil  institution,  and  mas- 
ters and  servants,  as  a  matter  of  course,  belong  to 
one  church.  Our  prayers  must  resemble  more  a  pri- 
vate interview  with  a  father  than  a  solemn  act  of 
homage  to  a  king.  They  must  be  more  intimate 
and  domestic.  The  hour  of  family  devotion  should 
be  the  children's  hour,  —  held  dear  as  the  interval 
when  the  busy  father  drops  his  business  and  cares, 
and,  like  Jesus  of  old,  takes  the  little  ones  in  his 
arms  and  blesses  them.  The  child  should  remember 


Home  Religion.  315 

it  as  the  time  when  the  father  always  seemed  most 
accessible  and  loving.  The  old  family  .worship  ef 
New  England  lacked  this  character  of  domesticity  and 
intimacy,  —  it  was  stately  and  formal,  distant  and 
cold  ;  but  whatever  were  its  defects,  I  cannot  think 
it  an  improvement  to  leave  it  out  altogether,  as  too 
many  good  sort  of  people  in  our  day  are  doing.  There 
may  be  practical  religion  where  its  outward  daily 
forms  are  omitted,  but  there  is  assuredly  no  more  of  it 
for  the  omission.  No  man  loves  God  and  his  neighbor 
less,  is  a  less  honest  and  good  man,  for  daily  prayers 
in  his  household,  —  the  chances  are  quite  the  other 
way;  and  if  the  spirit  of  love  rules  the  family  hour, 
it  may  prove  the  source  and  spring  of  all  that  is 
good  through  the  day.  It  seems  to  be  a  solemn  duty 
in  the  parents  thus  to  make  the  Invisible  Father- 
hood real  to  their  children,  who  can  receive  this  idea 
at  first  only  through  outward  forms  and  observances. 
The  little  one  thus  learns  that  his  father  has  a  Father 
in  heaven,  and  that  the  earthly  life  he  is  living  is  on- 
ly a  sacrament  and  emblem,  —  a  type  of  the  eternal 
life  which  infolds  it,  and  of  more  lasting  relations  there. 
Whether,  therefore,  it  be  the  silent  grace  and  silent 
prayer  of  the  Friends,  or  the  form  of  prayer  of  ritual 
churches,  or  the  extemporaneous  outpouring  of  those 
whose  habits  and  taste  lead  them  to  extempore  prayer, 
—  in  one  of  these  ways  there  should  be  daily  out- 
ward and  visible  acts  of  worship  in  every  family." 


316  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Bob,  "about  this  old  question 
of  Sunday-keeping,  Marianne  and  I  are  much  divided. 
I  am  always  for  doing  something  that  she  thinks  is  n't 
the  thing." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Marianne,  "  Bob  is  always 
talking  against  our  old  Puritan  fathers,  and  saying  all 
manner  of  hard  things  about  them.  He  seems  to 
think  that  all  their  ways  and  doings  must  of  course 
have  been  absurd.  For  my  part,  I  don't  think  we  are 
in  any  danger  of  being  too  strict  about  anything.  It 
appears  to  me  that  in  this  country  there  is  a  general 
tendency  to  let  all  sorts  of  old  forms  and  observances 
float  down-stream,  and  yet  nobody  seems  quite  to  have 
made  up  his  mind  what  shall  come  next." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  I,  "that  we  realize  very  fully 
all  the  objections  and  difficulties  of  the  experiments 
in  living  that  we  have  tried ;  but  the  difficulties  in 
others  that  we  are  intending  to  try  have  not  yet 
come  to  light.  The  Puritan  Sabbath  had  great  and 
very  obvious  evils.  Its  wearisome  restraints  and  over- 
strictness  cast  a  gloom  on  religion,  and  arrayed  against 
the  day  itself  the  active  prejudices  that  now  are  under- 
mining it  and  threatening  its  extinction.  But  it  had 
great  merits  and  virtues,  and  produced  effects  on 
society  that  we  cannot  well  afford  to  dispense  with. 
The  clearing  of  a  whole  day  from  all  possibilities  ^f 
labor  and  amusement  necessarily  produced  a  grave 


Home  Religion.  317 

and  thoughtful  people  j  and  a  democratic  republic 
can  be  carried  on  by  no  other.  In  lands  which  have 
Sabbaths  of  mere  amusement,  mere  gala-days,  repub- 
lics rise  and  fall  as  fast  as  children's  card-houses ; 
and  the  reason  is,  they  are  built  by  those  whose  polit- 
ical and  religious  education  has  been  childish.  The 
common  people  of  Europe  have  been  sedulously  nursed 
on  amusements  by  the  reigning  powers,  to  keep  them 
from  meddling  with  serious  matters  ;  their  religion  has 
been  sensuous  and  sentimental,  and  their  Sabbaths 
thoughtless  holidays.  The  common  people  of  New 
England  are  educated  to  think,  to  reason,  to  examine 
all  questions  of  politics  and  religion  for  themselves ; 
and  one  deeply  thoughtful  day  every  week  baptizes 
and  strengthens  their  reflective  and  reasoning  facul- 
ties. The  Sunday  schools  of  Paris  are  whirligigs 
where  Young  France  rides  round  and  round  on  little 
hobby-horses  till  his  brain  spins  even  faster  than  Na- 
ture made  it  to  spin  ;  and  when  he  grows  up,  his  politi- 
cal experiments  are  as  whirligig  as  his  Sunday  educa- 
tion. If  I  were  to  choose  between  the  Sabbath  of 
France  and  the  old  Puritan  Sabbath,  I  should  hold 
up  both  hands  for  the  latter,  with  all  its  objection- 
able features." 

"  Well,"  said  my  wife,  "  cannot,  we  contrive  to  re- 
tail, all  that  is  really  valuable  of  the  Sabbath,  and  to 
ameliorate  and  smooth  away  what  is  forbidding  ? " 


318  House  and  Home  Papers. 

"  That  is  the  problem  of  our  day,"  said  I.  "  We  do 
not  want  the  Sabbath  of  Continental  Europe  :  it  does 
not  suit  democratic  institutions  ;  it  cannot  be  made 
even  a  quiet  or  a  safe  day,  except  by  means  of  that  ever- 
present  armed  police  that  exists  there.  If  the  Sabbath 
of  America  is  simply  to  be  a  universal  loafing,  pic- 
nicking, dining-out  day,  as  it  is  now  with  all  our  foreign 
population,  we  shall  need  what  they  have  in  Europe, 
the  gendarmes  at  every  turn,  to  protect  the  fruit  on  our 
trees  and  the  melons  in  our  fields.  People  who  live 
a  little  out  from  great  cities  see  enough,  and  more  than 
enough,  of  this  sort  of  Sabbath-keeping,  with  our  loose 
American  police. 

"  The  fact  is,  our  system  of  government  was  organ- 
ized to  go  by  moral  influences  as  much  as  mills  by 
water,  and  Sunday  was  the  great  day  for  concentrat- 
ing these  influences  and  bringing  them  to  bear  j  and 
we  might  just  as  well  break  down  all  the  dams  and  let 
out  all  the  water  of  the  Lowell  mills,  and  expect  still 
to  work  the  looms,  as  to  expect  to  work  our  laws  and 
constitution  with  European  notions  of  religion. 

"  It  is  true  the  Puritan  Sabbath  had  its  disagreeable 
points.  So  have  the  laws  of  Nature.  They  are  of  a 
most  uncomfortable  sternness  and  rigidity ;  yet  for  all 
that,  we  would  hardly  join  in  a  petition  to  have  them 
repealed,  or  made  wavering  and  uncertain  for  hur^an 
convenience.  We  can  bend  to  them  in  a  thousand 
ways,  and  live  very  comfortably  under  them." 


Home  Religion.  319 

"  But,"  said  Bob,  "  Sabbath-keeping  is  the  iron  rod 
of  bigots  ;  they  don't  allow  a  man  any  liberty  of  his 
own.  One  says  it's  wicked  to  write  a  letter  Sun- 
day ;  another  holds  that  you  must  read  no  book  but 
the  Bible ;  and  a  third  is  scandalized,  if  you  take  a 
walk,  ever  so  quietly,  in  the  fields.  There  are  all  sorts 
of  quips  and  turns.  We  may  fasten  things  with  pins 
of  a  Sunday,  but  it 's  wicked  to  fasten  with  needle  and 
thread,  and  so  on,  and  so  on  ;  and  each  one,  planting 
himself  on  his  own  individual  mode  of  keeping  Sun- 
day, points  his  guns  and  frowns  severely  over  the  bat- 
tlements on  his  neighbors  whose  opinions  and  prac- 
tice are  different  from  his." 

"  Yet,"  said  I,  "  Sabbath-days  are  expressly  men- 
tioned by  Saint  Paul  as  among  those  things  concern- 
ing which  no  man  should  judge  another.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  error  as  regards  the  Puritan  Sabbath 
was  in  representing  it,  not  as  a  gift  from  God  to  man, 
but  as  a  tribute  of  man  to  God.  Hence  all  these  hag- 
glings  and  nice  questions  and  exactions  to  the  utter- 
most farthing.  The  holy  time  must  be  weighed  and 
measured.  It  must  begin  at  twelve  o'clock  of  one 
night,  and  end  at  twelve  o'clock  of  another;  and 
from  beginning  to  end,  the  mind  must*  be  kept  in  a 
state  of  tension  by  the  effort  not  to  think  any  of  its 
usual  thoughts  or  do  any  of  its  usual  works.  The  fact 
is,  that  the  metaphysical,  defining,  hair-splitting  mind 


320  House  and  Home  Papers. 

of  New  England,  turning  its  whole  powers  on  this 
one  bit  of  ritual,  this  one  only  day  of  divine  service, 
which  was  left  of  all  the  feasts  and  fasts  of  the  old 
churches,  made  of  it  a  thing  straiter  and  stricter  than 
ever  the  old  Jews  dreamed  of. 

"The  old  Jewish  Sabbath  entered  only  into  the 
physical  region,  merely  enjoining  cessation  from  physi- 
cal toil.  '  Thou  shalt  not  labor  nor  do  any  work]  cov- 
ered the  whole  ground.  In  other  respects  than  this  it 
was  a  joyful  festival,  resembling,  in  the  mode  of  keep- 
ing it,  the  Christmas  of  the  modern  Church.  It  was 
a  day  of  social  hilarity,  —  the  Jewish  law  strictly  for- 
bidding mourning  and  gloom  during  festivals.  The 
people  were  commanded  on  feast-days  to  rejoice 
before  the  Lord  their  God  with  all  their  might.  We 
fancy  there  were  no  houses  where  children  were  afraid 
to  laugh,  where  the  voice  of  social  cheerfulness  qua- 
vered away  in  terror  lest  it  should  awake  a  wrathful 
God.  The  Jewish  Sabbath  was  instituted,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  printing,,  of  books,  and  of  all  the  advan- 
tages of  literature,  to  be  the  great  means  of  preserv- 
ing sacred  history,  —  a  day  cleared  from  all  possi- 
bility of  other  employment  than  social  and  family 
communion,  when  the  heads  of  families  and  the  elders 
of  tribes  might  instruct  the  young  in  those  religious 
traditions  which  have  thus  come  down  to  us. 

"The   Christian    Sabbath   is   meant  to  supply  the 


Home  Religion.  321 

same  moral  need  in  that  improved  and  higher  state  of 
society  which  Christianity  introduced.  Thus  it  was 
changed  from  the  day  representing  the  creation  of 
the  world  to  the  resurrection-day  of  Him  who  came 
to  make  all  things  new.  The  Jewish  Sabbath  was 
buried  with  Christ  in  the  sepulchre,  and  arose  with 
Him,  not  a  Jewish,  but  a  Christian  fe.stival,  still  hold- 
ing in  itself  that  provision  for  man's  needs  which  the 
old  institution  possessed,  but  with  a  wider  and  more 
generous  freedom  of  application.  It  was  given  to  the 
Christian  world  as  a  day  of  rest,  of  refreshment,  of 
hope  and  joy,  —  and  of  worship.  The  manner  of 
making  it  such  a  day  was  left  open  and  free  to  the 
needs  and  convenience  of  the  varying  circumstances 
and  characters  of  those  for  whose  benefit  it  was  in- 
stituted." 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  "  don't  you  think  there  is  a  deal 
of  nonsense  about  Sabbath-keeping  ? " 

"  There  is  a  deal  of  nonsense  about  everything 
human  beings  have  to  deal  with,"  said  I. 

"And,"  said  Marianne,  "how  to  find  out  what  is 
nonsense  ? " 

"  By  clear  conceptions,"  said  I,  "  of  what  the  day 
is  for.  I  should  define  the  Sabbath  as  a  divine  and 
fatherly  gift  to  man,  —  a  day  expressly  set  apart  for 
the  cultivation  of  his  moral  nature.  Its  object  is  not 
merely  physical  rest  and  recreation,  but  moral  im- 
14*  u 


322  House  and  Home  Papers. 

provement  The  former  are  proper  to  the  day  only 
so  far  as  they  are  subservient  to  the  latter.  The 
whole  human  race  have  the  conscious  need  of  being 
made  better,  purer,  and  more  spiritual ;  the  whole 
human  race  have  one  common  danger  of  sinking  to  a 
mere  animal  life  under  the  pressure  of  labor  or  in  the 
dissipations  of  pleasure  ;  and  of  the  whole  human  race 
the  proverb  holds  good,  that  what  may  be  done  any 
time  is  done  at  no  time.  Hence  the  Heavenly  Father 
appoints  one  day  as  a  special  season  for  the  culture  of 
man's  highest  faculties.  Accordingly,  whatever  ways 
and  practices  interfere  with  the  purpose  of  the  Sab- 
bath as  a  day  of  worship  and  moral  culture  should 
be  avoided ;  and  all  family  arrangements  for  the  day 
should  be  made  with  reference  thereto." 

"  Cold  dinners  on  Sunday,  for  example,"  said  Bob. 
"  Marianne  holds  these  as  prime  articles  of  faith." 

"  Yes,  —  they  doubtless  are  most  worthy  and  merci- 
ful, in  "giving  to  the  poor  cook  one  day  she  may  call 
her  own,  and  rest  from  the  heat  of  range  and  cooking- 
stove.  For  the  same  reason,  I  would  suspend  as  far  as 
possible  all  travelling,  and  all  public  labor,  on  Sunday. 
The  hundreds  of  hands  that  these  things  require  to 
carry  them  on  are  the  hands  of  human  beings,  whose 
right  to  this  merciful  pause  of  rest  is  as  clear  as  their 
humanity.  Let  them  have  their  day  to  look  upward." 

"  But  the  little  ones,"  said  my  oldest  matron  daugh- 


Home  Religion.  323 

ter,  who  had  not  as  yet  spoken,  —  "  they  are  the  prob- 
lem. Oh,  this  weary  labor  of  making  children  keep 
Sunday  !  If  I  try  it,  I  have  no  rest  at  all  myself.  If 
I  must  talk  to  them  or  read  to  them  to  keep  them 
from  play,  my  Sabbath  becomes  my  hardest  working- 
day." 

"And,  pray,  what  commandment  of  the  Bible  ever 
said  children  should  not  play  on  Sunday  ? "  said  I. 
"  We  are  forbidden  to  work,  and  we  see  the  reason 
why;  but  lambs  frisk  and  robins  sing  on  Sunday; 
and  little  children,  who  are  as  yet  more  than  half 
animals,  must  not  be  made  to  keep  the  day  in  the 
manner  proper  to  our  more  developed  faculties.  As 
much  cheerful,  attractive  religious  instruction  as  they 
can  bear  without  weariness  may  be  given,  and  then 
they  may  simply  be  restrained  from  disturbing  others. 
Say  to  the  little  one,  —  *  This  day  we  have  noble  and 
beautiful  things  to  think  of  that  interest  us  deeply; 
you  are  a  child  ;  you  cannot  read  and  think  and  enjoy 
such  things  as  much  as  we  can ;  you  may  play  softly 
and  quietly,  and  remember  not  to  make  a  disturbance/ 
I  would  take  a  child  to  public  worship  at  least  once  of 
a  Sunday ;  it  forms  a  good  habit  in  him.  If  the  ser- 
mon be  long  and  unintelligible,  there  are  the  little 
Sabbath-school  books  in  every  child's  hands ;  and  while 
the  grown  people  are  getting  what  they  understand, 
who  shall  forbid  a  child's  getting  what  is  suited  to 


324  House  and  Home  Papers. 

him  in  a  way  that  interests  him  and  disturbs  nobody  ? 
The  Sabbath  school  is  the  child's  church ;  and  happily 
it  is  yearly  becoming  a  more  and  more  attractive  insti- 
tution. I  approve  the  custom  of  those  who  ..beautify 
the  Sabbath  school-room  with  plants,  flowers,  and 
pictures,  thus  making  it  an  attractive  place  to  the 
childish  eye.  The  more  this  custom  prevails,  the 
more  charming  in  after  years  will  be  the  memories 
of  Sunday. 

"  It  is  most  especially  to  be  desired  that  the  whole 
air  and  aspect  of  the  day  should  be  one  of  cheer- 
fulness. Even  the  new  dresses,  new  bonnets,  and 
new  shoes,  in  which  children  delight  of  a  Sunday, 
should  not  be  despised.  They  have  their  value  in 
marking  the  day  as  a  festival;  and  it  is  better  for 
the  child  to  long  for  Sunday  for  the  sake  of  his  little 
new  shoes  than  that  he  should  hate  and  dread  it  as 
a  period  of  wearisome  restraint.  All  the  latitude 
should  be  given  to  children  that  can  be,  consistently 
with  fixing  in  their  minds  the  idea  of  a  sacred  sea- 
son. I  would  rather  that  the  atmosphere  of  the  day 
should  resemble  that  of  a  weekly  Thanksgiving  than 
that  it  should  make  its  mark  on  the  tender  mind 
only  by  the  memory  of  deprivations  and  restric- 
tions." 

"Well,"  said  Bob,  "here's  Marianne  always  break- 
ing, her  heart  about  my  reading  on  Sunday.  Now  I 


Home  Religion.  325 

hold  that  what  is  bad  on  Sunday  is  bad  on  Monday, 
—  and  what  is  good  on  Monday  is  good  on  Sunday." 

"  We  cannot  abridge  other  people's  liberty,"  said  I. 
"The  generous,  confiding  spirit  of  Christianity  has 
imposed  not  a  single  restriction  upon  us  in  reference 
to  Sunday.  The  day  is  put  at  our  disposal  as  a  good 
Father  hands  a  piece  of  money  to  his  child  :  —  'There 
it  is ;  take  it  and  spend  it  well.'  The  child  knows 
from  his  father's  character  what  he  means  by  spend- 
ing it  well ;  but  he  is  left  free  to  use  his  own  judgment 
as  to  the  mode. 

"  If  a  man  conscientiously  feels  that  reading  of  this 
or  that  description  is  the  best  for  him  as  regards  his 
moral  training  and  improvement,  let  him  pursue  it, 
and  let  no  man  judge  him.  It  is  difficult,  with  the 
varying  temperaments  of  men,  to  decide  what  are  or 
are  not  religious  books.  One  man  is  more  religiously 
impressed  by  the  reading  of  history  or  astronomy  than 
he  would  be  by  reading  a  sermon.  There  may  be 
overwrought  and  wearied  states  of  the  brain  and 
nerves  which  require  and  make  proper  the  diversions 
of  light  literature ;  and  if  so,  let  it  be  used.  The 
mind  must  have  its  recreations  as  well  as  the  body." 

"  But  for  children  and  young  people,"  said-  my 
daughter,  — "  would  you  let  them  read  novels  on 
Sunday  ? " 

"That  is  exactly  like  asking,  Would  you  let  them 


326  House  and  Home  Papers. 

talk  with  people  on  Sunday  ?  Now  people  are  differ- 
ent; it  depends,  therefore,  on  who  they  are.  Some 
are  trifling  and  flighty,  some  are  positively  bad-prin- 
cipled, some  are  altogether  good  in  their  influence. 
So  of  the  class  of  books  called  novels.  Some  are 
merely  frivolous,  some  are  absolutely  noxious  and 
dangerous,  others  again  are  written  with  a  strong 
moral  and  religious  purpose,  and,  being  vivid  and 
interesting,  produce  far  more  religious  effect  on  the 
mind  than  dull  treatises  and  sermons.  The  parables 
of  Christ  sufficiently  establish  the  point  that  there  is 
no  inherent  objection  to  the  use  of  fiction  in  teaching 
religious  truth.  Good  religious  fiction,  thoughtfully 
read,  may  be  quite  as  profitable  as  any  other  reading." 

"  But  don't  you  think,"  said  Marianne,  "  that  there 
is  danger  in  too  much  fiction  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  But  the  chief  danger  of  all  that 
class  of  reading  is  its  easiness •,  and  the  indolent,  care- 
less mental  habits  it 'induces.  A  great  deal  of  the  read- 
ing of  young  people  on  all  days  is  really  reading  to  no 
purpose,  its  object  being  merely  present  amusement 
It  is  a  listless  yielding  of  the  mind  to  be  washed  over 
by  a  stream  which  leaves  no  fertilizing  properties,  and 
carries  away  by  constant  wear  the  good  soil  of  thought. 
I  should  try  to  establish  a  barrier  against  this  kind  of 
reading,  not  only  on  Sunday,  but  on  Monday,  on  Tues- 
day, and  on  all  days.  Instead,  therefore,  of  objecting 


Home  Religion.  327 

to  any  particular  class  of  books  for  Sunday  reading, 
I  should  say  in  general,  that  reading  merely  for 
pastime,  without  any  moral  aim,  is  the  thing  to  be 
guarded  against.  That  which  inspires  no  thought, 
no  purpose,  which  steals  away  all  our  strength  and 
energy,  and  makes  the  Sabbath  a  day  of  dreams,  is 
the  reading  I  would  object  to. 

"So  of  music.  I  do  not  see  the  propriety  of 
confining  one's  self  to  technical  sacred  music.  Any 
grave,  solemn,  thoughtful,  or  pathetic  music  has  a 
proper  relation  to  our  higher  spiritual  nature',  whether 
it  be  printed  in  a*  church  service-book  or  on  secular 
sheets.  On  me,  for  example,  Beethoven's  Sonatas 
have  a  far  more  deeply  religious  influence  than  much 
that  has  religious  names  and  words.  Music  is  to  be 
judged  of  by  its  effects." 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  "  if  Sunday  is  given  for  our  own 
individual  improvement,  I  for  one  should  not  go  to 
church.  I  think  I  get  a  great  deal  more  good  in  stay- 
ing at  home  and  reading." 

"There  are  two  considerations  to  be  taken  into 
account  in  reference  to  this  matter  of  church-going," 
I  replied.  "One  relates  to  our  duty  as  members  of 
society  in  keeping  up  the  influence  of  the  Sabbath, 
and  causing  it  to  be  respected  in  the  community  ;  the 
other,  to  the  proper  disposition  of  our  time  for  our 
own  moral  improvement.  As  members  of  the  com- 


328  House  and  Home  Papers. 

munity,  we  should  go  to  church,  and  do  all  in  our 
power  to  support  the  outward  ordinances  of  religion. 
If  a  conscientious  man  makes  up  his  mind  that  Sun- 
day is  a  day  for  outward  acts  of  worship  and  rever- 
ence, he  should  do  his  own  part  as  an  individual 
towards  sustaining  these  observances.  Even  though 
he  may  have  such  mental  and  moral  resources  that 
as  an  individual  he  could  gain  much  more  in  solitude 
than  in  a  congregation,  still  he  owes  to  the  congre- 
gation the  influence  of  his  presence  and  sympathy. 
But  I  have  never  yet  seen  the  man,  however  finely 
gifted  morally  and  intellectually,  whom  I  thought  in 
the  long  run  a  gainer  in  either  of  these  respects  by 
the  neglect  of  public  worship.  I  have  seen  many 
who  in  their  pride  kept  aloof  from  the  sympathies 
and  communion  of  their  brethren,  who  lost  strength 
morally,  and  deteriorated  in  ways  that  made  them- 
selves painfully  felt.  Sunday  is  apt  in  such  cases  to 
degenerate  into  a  day  of  mere  mental  idleness  and 
reverie,  or  to  become  a  sort  of  waste-paper  box  for 
scraps,  odds  and  ends  of  secular  affairs. 

"  As  to  those  very  good  people  —  and  many  such 
there  are  —  who  go  straight  on  with  the  work  of  life  on 
Sunday,  on  the  plea  that  "  to  labor  is  to  pray,"  I  sim- 
ply think  they  are  mistaken.  In  the  first  place,  to 
labor  is  not  the  same  thing  as  to  pray.  It  may  some- 
times be  as  good  a  thing  to  £0,  and  in  some  cases 


Home  Religion.  329 

even  a  better  thing ;  but  it  is  not  the  same  thing.  A 
man  might  as  well  never  write  a  letter  to  his  wife  on 
the  plea  that  making  money  for  her  is  writing  to  her. 
It  may  possibly  be  quite  as  great  a  proof  of  love  to 
work  for  a  wife  as  to  write  to  her,  but  few  wives  would 
not  say  that  both  were  not  better  than  either  alone. 
Furthermore,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  intervention 
of  one  day  of  spiritual  rest  and  aspiration  so  refreshes 
a  man's  whole  nature,  and  oils  the  many  wheels  of 
existence,  that  he  who  allows  himself  a  weekly  Sab- 
bath does  more  work  in  the  course  of  his  life  for  the 
omission  of  work  on  that  day. 

"  A  young  student  in  a  French  college,  where  the 
examinations  are  rigidly  severe,  found  by  experi- 
ence that  he  succeeded  best  in  his  examination  by 
allowing  one  day  of  entire  rest  just  before  it.  His 
brain  and  nervous  system  refreshed  in  this  way  carried 
him  through  the  work  better  than  if  taxed  to  the 
last  moment.  There  are  men  transacting  a  large 
and  complicated  business  who  can  testify  to  the  same 
influence  from  the  repose  of  the  Sabbath. 

"I  believe  those  Christian  people  who  from  con- 
science and  principle  turn  their  thoughts  most  entirely 
out  of  the  current  of  worldly  cares  on  Sunday  fulfil 
unconsciously  a  great  law  of  health  ;  and  that,  whether 
their  moral  nature  be  thereby  advanced  or  not,  their 
brain  will  work  more  healthfully  and  actively  for  it 


330  House  and  Home  Papers. 

even  in  physical  and  worldly  matters.  It  is  because 
the  Sabbath  thus  harmonizes  the  physical  and  moral 
laws  of  our  being,  that  the  injunction  concerning  it  is 
placed  among  the  ten  great  commandments,  each  of 
which  represents  some  one  of  the  immutable  needs  of 
humanity. 

"  There  is  yet  another  point  of  family  religion  that 
ought  to  be  thought  of,"  said  my  wife  :  "  I  mean  the 
customs  of  mourning.  If  there  is  anything  that  ought 
to  distinguish  Christian  families  from  Pagans,  it  should 
be  their  way  of  looking  at  and  meeting  those  inev- 
itable events  that  must  from  time  to  time  break  the 
family  chain.  It  seems  to  be  the  peculiarity  of  Chris- 
tianity to  shed  hope  on  such  events.  And  yet  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  the  very  intention  of  many 
of  the  customs  of  society  to  add  tenfold  to  their  gloom 
and  horror,  —  such  swathings  of  black  crape,  such 
funereal  mufflings  of  every  pleasant  object,  such  dark- 
ening of  rooms,  and  such  seclusion  from  society  and 
giving  up  to  bitter  thoughts  and  lamentation.  How 
can  little  children  that  look  on  such  things  believe 
that  there  is  a  particle  of  truth  in 'all  they  hear  about 
the  joyous  and  comforting  doctrines  which  the  Bible 
holds  forth  for  such  times?" 

"  That  subject  is  a  difficult  one,"  I  rejoined.  "  Na- 
ture seems  to  indicate  a  propriety  in  some  outward 
expressions  of  grief  when  we  lose  our  friends.  All 


Home  Religion.  331 

nations  agree  in  these  demonstrations.  In  a  certain 
degree  they  are  soothing  to  sorrow;  they  are  the 
language  of  external  life  made  to  correspond  to  the 
internal.  Wearing  mourning  has  its  advantages.  It 
is  a  protection^  to  the  feelings  of  the  wearer,  for 
whom  it  procures  sympathetic  and  tender  considera- 
tion ;  it  saves  grief  from  many  a  hard  jostle  in  the 
ways  of  life ;  it  prevents  the  necessity  of  many  a  try- 
ing explanation,  and  is  the  ready  apology  for  many 
an  omission  of  those  tasks  to  which  sorrow  is  unequal. 
For  all  these  reasons  I  never  could  join  the  cru- 
sade which  some  seem  disposed  to  wage  against  it. 
Mourning,  however,  ought  not  to  be  continued  for 
years.  Its  uses  are  more  for  the  first  few  months 
of  sorrow,  when  it  serves  the  mourner  as  a  safeguard 
from  intrusion,  insuring  quiet  and  leisure,  in  which 
to  reunite  the  broken  threads  of  life,  and  to  gather 
strength  for  a  return  to  its  duties.  But  to  wear 
mourning  garments  and  forego  society  for  two  or  three 
years  after  the  loss  of  any  friend,  however  dear,  I 
cannot  but  regard  as  a  morbid,  unhealthy  nursing  of 
sorrow,  unworthy  of  a  Christian." 

"  And  yet,"  said  my  wife,  "  to  such  an  unhealthy 
degree  does  this  custom  prevail,  that  I  have  actually 
known  young  girls  who  have  never  worn  any  other 
dress  than  mourning,  and  consequently  never  been 
into  society,  during  the  entire  period  of  their  girlhood. 


332  House  and  Home  Papers. 

First,  the  death  of  a  father  necessitated  three  years 
of  funereal  garments  and  abandonment  of  social  rela- 
tions ;  then  the  death  of  a  brother  added  two  years 
more  j  and  before  that  mourning  was  well  ended,  an- 
other of  a  wide  circle  of  relatives  being  taken,  the 
habitual  seclusion  was  still  protracted.  What  must  a 
child  think  of  the  Christian  doctrine  of  life  and  death, 
who  has  never  seen  life  except  through  black  crape  ? 
We  profess  to  believe  in  a  better  life  to  which  the 
departed  good  are  called,  —  to  believe  in  the  shortness 
of  our  separation,  the  certainty  of  reunion,  and  that 
all  these  events  are  arranged  in  all  their  relations  by 
an  infinite  tenderness  which 'cannot  err.  Surely,  Chris- 
tian funerals  too  often  seem  to  say  that  affliction 
"  cometh  of  the  dust,"  and  not  from  above. 

«  But,"  said  Bob,  "  after  all,  death  is  a  horror ;  you 
can  make  nothing  less  of  it.  You  can't  smooth  it 
over,  nor  dress  it  with  flowers ;  it  is  what  Nature  shud- 
ders at." 

"  It  is  precisely  for  this  reason,"  said  I,  "  that  Chris- 
tians should  avoid  those  customs  which  aggravate 
and  intensify  this  natural  dread.  Why  overpower  the 
senses  with  doleful  and  funereal  images  in  the  hour  of 
weakness  and  bereavement,  when  the  soul  needs  all 
her  force  to  rise  above  the  gloom  of  earth,  and 
to  realize  the  mysteries  of  faith?  Why  shut  the 
friendly  sunshine  from  the  mourner's  room?  Why 


Home  Religion.  333 

muffle  in  a  white  shroud  every  picture  that  speaks  a 
cheerful  household  word  to  the  eye?  Why  make  a 
house  look  stiff  and  ghastly  and  cold  as  a  corpse  ?  In 
some  of  our  cities,  on  the  occurrence  of  a  death  in 
the  family,  all  the  shutters  on  the  street  are  closed 
and  tied  with  black  crape,  and  so  remain  for  months. 
What  an  oppressive  gloom  must  this  bring  on  a  house' ! 
how  like  the  very  shadow  of  death'!  It  is  enlisting  the 
nerves  and  the  senses  against  our  religion,  and  making 
more  difficult  the  great  duty  of  returning  to  life  and 
its  interests.  I  would  have  flowers  and  sunshine  in 
the  deserted  rooms,  and  make  them  symbolical  of 
the  cheerful  mansions  above,  to  which  our  beloved 
ones  are  gone.  Home  ought  to  be  so  religiously 
cheerful,  so  penetrated  by  the  life  of  love  and  hope 
and  Christian  faith,  that  the  other  world  may  be 
made  real  by  it.  Our  home  life  should  be  a  type 
of  the  higher  life.  Our  home  should  be  so  sancti- 
fied, its  joys  and  its  sorrows  so  baptized  and  hal- 
lowed, that  it  shall  not  be  sacrilegious  to  think 
of  heaven  as  a  higher  form  of  the  same  thing,  —  a 
Father's  house  in  the  better  country,  whose  man- 
sions are  many,  whose  love  is  perfect,  whose  joy  is 
eternal." 


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